


When in Rome

by themidnightbagel



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, bookstore owning Gansey, more rome au than spy au tbh, rome AU, some self-reflective melodrama, spy AU, this is a generally soft fic folks, tourist spot dates, winery tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themidnightbagel/pseuds/themidnightbagel
Summary: Six. Two. One. Six. Two. One.  An endless loop in Adam’s head, said by the man at the register, but also said by the man on the radio, the man who gave Adam his orders to go to Tokyo last winter, his orders to come here, nearly all of his orders for the past year and a half.  The voice that he kept closer to him than he had any right to, considering that’s all it was—a voice.  Now it seemed, that voice was connected a body.(In which Adam is a spy fixated on the unnamed voice that gives him his mission assignments, and Ronan works at a bookstore in Rome.  When Adam stumbles into that bookstore, he realizes Ronan sounds an awful lot like that voice, and decides he’s in dire need a tour guide.)Now with added epilogue!





	1. Prologue + Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I'm really doing this thing, huh. This fic is strange in the fact that it does have a plot, but sometimes it doesn't because sometimes I just wanted to write pynch idly exploring Rome, while the plot lingered in the background. Bear with me, I think it actually turned out decent (?) and I had a fun time writing this overall, so hopefully that comes across. Enjoy!
> 
> This fic is completely finished, and a new chapter will be posted every Friday!

**PROLOGUE**

“Six. Two. One. Six. Two. One. Six. Two. One,” droned the low, even, and slightly gruff voice on the radio, followed by a song akin to what one might hear coming from an ice cream truck.

Adam Parrish sighed and slumped back into his chair; he wished he could rewind the message, just once.  To anyone else, this sounded like a garbled assortment of numbers oddly stitched together with children’s music.  Which, to be fair, that was what it _literally_ was.  However, to a spy, one such as Adam, it told a whole different story.  It gave orders, information, and in his case, an odd sense of comfort and familiarity.  There wasn’t much stability in his line of work, nor a lot of room for making genuine connections with people, so Adam’s circle of acquaintances was what one may call, minute. 

He was never in the same place for too long, and even if he was, he was certainly never Adam Parrish in the same place for too long, donning new identities and personas, whatever the assignment called for.  He also exclusively worked alone, finding it easier to just be independent and trust that he’d do a sufficient job on his own.  Only one other agent, the Mirror—or Blue, as he eventually learned was her real name—had slipped through the cracks and became his one true confidant.  Even then, Adam knew Blue, but Blue didn’t know Adam, not really.  They had been in the same training group and immediately bonded, which lead to a short-lived fling, resulting in them both realizing they worked much better as friends.  She had offered to be Adam’s partner—professionally—but he turned it down. If he fucked up on a job, or received any unexpected blowback, he didn’t want to bring her tumbling down with him.

His loner gig had been working out in his favor so far—if you put Adam Parrish on a job, it was going to get done, sufficiently, and in a timely manner.  He was a good agent, supposedly the best if he was to believe what his Operations Officer only known to him as “D” had to say.

As a result of this, Adam clung to those small points of stability that existed, romanticized them even.  He knew it was irrational, but sometimes it’s all he had to hang onto.  Case in point being this particular orator on this particular numbers station.  No matter what part of the world he was in, or where he was—in the back of a stuffy restaurant, or in the attic of an empty church like today—when he tuned his radio in, ready to receive his next assignment, that same voice came ringing through.  Sometimes it was more muffled than others, but Adam always knew it was him. 

He had gone silent a couple times, replaced by someone else, and it made Adam inordinately more worried than it should have.  Logically, he knew this was just another agent on the other end, someone Adam would never know, someone who didn’t know, or care about him.  He kept his group of confidants small, and his list of vices even smaller.  Every time he heard that voice though, every time he reveled in its deep tone, and how he could tell just by the slight inflections, the likes of which shouldn’t be there, that the man on the other end didn’t volunteer for this position, he knew this was one vice he wasn’t willing to give up. 

Besides, he reasoned as he stood up and cracked his back, that’s all it was, a disembodied voice.  A disembodied voice that Adam had tried to attach a face to countless times, but he knew each time that he didn’t have it quite right. A disembodied voice who he had only once heard go off script, a stumble in his recitation, followed by an irritated “fuck”, before he continued.  A disembodied voice that had just now informed him that he was to travel to Rome for a quick mission involving some rather standard fare intelligence gathering.  He had never been to Rome before, even though he knew that’s where D was centered.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, undoubtedly D confirming that Adam received his instructions.

**D: Ready to head out, Magician? Already had a dead drop done for your new passport, phone and some cash.  Right inside that little church of yours, seventh pew on the right.**

Texting back a concise “affirmative”, he headed out of the attic of St. Agnes, a church in rural Virginia that he’d been hiding out in during his down time between assignments.  He swiped the materials left for him, quickly checking to make sure Blue’s number had been transferred over to the new burner, and it was.  Blue was a pretty extraordinary agent in her own right, and had somehow gotten on enough of D’s good side that he let them stay in sustained contact throughout their missions.  D didn’t have any real fondness for Adam, he knew that, but with his high success rate making D look good, he was allowed these little favors.

Adam sent her a quick text letting her know where he was off to.  He usually couldn’t share much more than that, but broad locations were enough, enough to know the other was still alive, still working, still thinking of the other.  Their messages were also almost never in plaintext as they’d developed their own code back in training and used that to encrypt their correspondences, however mundane, or classified they may be.  To his knowledge she was still in Venezuela, investigating a few targets that had been on D’s list for some time now. 

Now though, replaying to himself the voice from the station one more time, he was off to Rome.  Optimistically, he hoped maybe he could get some use out of his Latin knowledge for once. Maybe even take in a sight or two.  He had heard such great things about the Trevi Fountain.

**CHAPTER 1**

The job went splendidly.  It was quick and painless on Adam’s end, just as he preferred, and just as D had promised.  He was told that this assignment was only a part of a larger, more complex and long-term mission, but his contributions were complete. As an added bonus, Adam left with no blood on his hands, in the most literal sense.  He got in, got the information, and got out.  The crowd was a bunch of bourgeoisie big-shots who had more money than they knew what to do with—not exactly Adam’s favorite crowd.  With his slightly unkempt crop of hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones complete with a smattering of freckles, D always told Adam that he’d make a great raven—a male agent used to seduce targets in order to gather intelligence—but the idea never appealed to him.  He preferred to solve the puzzle that was each job in its own particular way, and when it proved to work, D didn’t get on his case about it again.

Currently though, if he let himself admit it, he felt a little aimless.  Roaming the aisles of a small bookstore by the Piazza Adriana, he realized that doing this, doing something with his own time of his own volition, with no goal, no target, no deadline, was something he hadn’t done in many years.  After reporting back to D, Adam was told that for now, his next task was simply to stay in Rome as a sleeper agent.  Essentially, he was on a forced work sponsored vacation until further notice. 

D always told him he worked too much, even for someone in this field, so he should have seen it coming.  Anyone else may have thought being delegated to sleeper status, being pulled out of action, was a demotion, but in Adam’s case, it was a “reward” for working so hard.  “A small break well deserved”, D had told him.  To Adam, it meant time to himself that he was completely at odds with what to do with, and an underlying sense of uselessness when he knew that there were jobs out there he could be doing at that very moment.

So, he found himself at Excelsior Books.  He had stumbled upon it, and figured he might as well stop in, maybe see if he could grab something to help him brush up on his Latin skills. In high school he had excelled at the language, but the knack he developed for it began to wane with lack of use.  Over the years he was required to learn many other languages and unsurprisingly, Latin was not one that was put to much to use.  However, if there was any place to revive his interest in the so-called “dead language”, it was Rome.

Scanning a copy of The Aeneid in its original Latin—don’t let anyone tell you Adam did anything halfway—he overheard a conversation by the cash register, which was only a couple of steps away.

“Are we overcharging?  That last purchase seemed to be a bit expensive for just one book” a concerned male voice asked.

“It was 6.21, so if anything, I’d say we’re undercharging” a second male voice responded. 

This voice gave Adam pause.  Something about it piqued his interest.

“How much?” the first voice asked again.

“Six. Two. One. Jesus, Dick, are you deaf or something?” said the second voice, although Adam stopped listening halfway through.

Six. Two. One. Six. Two. One.  An endless loop in Adam’s head, said by the man at the register, but also said by the man on the radio, the man who gave Adam his orders to go to Tokyo last winter, his orders to come here, nearly all of his orders for the past year and a half.  The voice that he kept closer to him than he had any right to, considering that’s all it was—a voice.  Now it seemed, that voice was connected a body.

Turning around, his eyes landed upon two very different people standing at the counter.  One was leaning across it, clad in brown chinos, a bright blue polo, and topped off with boat shoes so horrid that for once Adam didn’t feel bad about his beat-up pair of Converse that he always wore.  His brown hair was slightly tousled in a way that looked at once messy but also entirely put together, and a pair of wireframes were perched on his nose.

At the register was a second man who looked like the antithesis of who Adam had first appraised.  Most notably because he didn’t really have much hair to speak of, as it was shaved down, although Adam could surmise by what was there that it was black, which matched the rest of his attire.  A worn in leather jacket outlined his shoulders, with a simple black shirt underneath.  Adam couldn’t completely see what pants he was wearing, but he took a wild guess that they were black as well.  As rough as his exterior seemed, his eyes were gentle as he attempted a glare at the other man—who Adam remembered being called “Dick”, but he wasn’t sure yet if it was being used as an insult, his actual name, or both.

“You’re right, you’re right, we’re fine.  I just want to make sure our patrons get the best service possible here,” Boat Shoes said with a slight smile on his face.

Shaved Head—Adam would refuse to refer to him as The Voice until such suspicion was confirmed—scoffed and replied, “Patrons? Just call them customers like everyone else. As much as you like to act middle aged, you’re still only in your twenties.”

Boat Shoes gave him a look, “Get back to work, Lynch.  You can lecture me on my speaking habits later.”

A turn of the lip, a cutting glance, a lazy salute, “Yes, sir”.

He knew. “Lynch.”  That had to be him.  Adam had taken painstakingly obscene measures to burn that tone into his brain, although never once did he think he would hear it without slight static in the background, with inflections that were meant to be there, not because he made a mistake in the number readouts.  He had let himself entertain the thought once—before pushing it away as a self-indulgent fantasy—that perhaps the voice would belong to someone so unfairly attractive.

His face was sharp and angular, in a way that seemed to invite trouble but also a calmness that didn’t announce itself as loudly.  On a second, closer glance, Adam noticed what seemed to be a tattoo crawling its way out of his shirt and onto his neck.  Interesting.  Immediately Adam’s mind began to fill with conspiracies as to why they would just so happen to cross paths right when he was told to continue as a sleeper for the time being.  He thought it could be a trap, a plan put in place by D to test him, to remind him to never truly let his guard down.  Perhaps whoever had been reading his orders had defected and Adam was now a target. Or, there was the slim chance that it was just coincidence, some might even say fate.  But that was a strong word to throw around.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t just leave it like this.  It was in his nature to investigate when things didn’t add up, to gather information, to unearth any secrets that may be hiding.  The voice that had been Adam’s constant companion appeared to have taken the form of a man who drew him in so stridently that it startled him. That small detail may have had something to do with Adam’s newfound conviction too.  

He couldn’t just walk up to Lynch and demand answers, he had to be careful.  There was no way to confirm if he was actually who Adam had been hearing, and if he wasn’t, Adam couldn’t just casually drop that information onto a civilian.  For one, it would be a breach of protocol—possibly resulting in him being burned—and for two, it would just be irresponsible and dangerous to involve someone unnecessarily.  Adam had a strict policy of not dragging anyone along with him in his less than morally golden career, unless they were already tangled up in it, like Blue.  However, technically as of now, Adam wasn’t “on the clock”, so Lynch wasn’t a job, wasn’t a target.  He was just a person of interest, someone Adam was going to keep an eye on for the time being, for personal reasons. 

So, for a while, that’s what he did.  He frequented the bookstore, coming in every couple of days, walking through the aisles, keeping one eye and his one good ear tuned to the front counter where Lynch was constantly poised.  Never approaching directly, he did what came naturally and stayed under the radar as much as possible.  Adam Parrish knew how to be quiet to get what he wanted.  The issue was what he wanted, and what he should do were not as inextricably tied as he wished they were.  He wanted, more than anything, to talk to Lynch, to know if he was really the voice keeping Adam afloat some days.  He was confident in his initial identification, but the slim chance that he was wrong held him back.

Breaking out of his reverie, Adam noticed that Lynch had disappeared from the front, and had therefore left Adam’s line of sight.  He was back in the Latin section today, once again pursuing The Aeneid as he had yet to actually purchase anything in his six visits to the shop.  Just as Adam was about to crane his head around the corner, Lynch reappeared from over his left shoulder.  The left was Adam’s bad side, so he hadn’t heard him approach, which left him shaken—both because he was now being forced to interact and because someone hadn’t managed to genuinely startle Adam in a long time.

“Do you need help with something?  That book you’re looking for is taking you a hell of a long time to find.  About six days if my math’s precise, which, for the record, I wouldn’t ever claim that it was,” Lynch asked him.

Lynch had left Adam dumbfounded once again.  The fact that he had noticed Adam hanging around simultaneously upset Adam—part of his job description did involve being fairly adept at blending into the background when the situation called for it, after all—and flattered him.  There was no denying that regardless of if Lynch was who Adam suspected him to be, he was incredibly attractive.  Up close this was even more pronounced as Adam regarded his dark blue eyes, and saw the finer details of his tattoo, such as the wings that hugged the side of his neck.

He soon realized that he needed an excuse for why he had been here so much.  Adam Parrish may not be able to twist a conversation like taffy, but the Magician faired a little better, even if it pained him a little.

He steadily took Lynch—Ronan Lynch, he notes after seeing his full name tag—in and replied, “Well, you see, the thing is, I’m just not sure if what I want here is for sale.”

Eyebrow raised, Ronan replied, “Oh, you slick fucker. Now, I’m not saying I can be bought, but the going price usually includes at least a conversation.”

There was a small café that neighbored the store, so Adam nodded his head in that direction.

“How about lunch?”

Ronan grinned and began to head over.  He followed, passing by a bewildered Boat Shoes—Adam could now see that he was actually just “Gansey” based on his nametag—who called out, “Ronan, you are _working_ , where do you think you’re going?”

“Well now I’m on my break!  Heading over to Nino’s!” Ronan yelled over his shoulder, already out the door.  Adam was in this now; he had no choice but to follow.

The bell on the door chimed as they arrived, causing the barista to look up from the counter, recognition alighting his eyes once he saw Ronan.  He looked like he was about to blink out of existence he was so fair, hair flirting with the color white, skin so pale it was almost translucent, and what Adam assumed to be coffee grounds smudged under one eye.  However, what his physical appearance lacked in substance, he made up for with the brilliance of his grin.  His teeth were astonishingly white, and as someone who had experience in subterfuge, he detected none in this man and his genuine happiness upon them walking in the door.

“Ronan, I was just thinking about you! Who do you have with you today? Ah, is this the mysterious man I’ve heard so much about?  Glad to know it’s finally evolved beyond eye-fucking!”

Ronan shot him a look laced with irritation.

“Really nice to see you too, Noah.  Thanks for that.”

Adam was then faced with the fact that not only had Ronan noticed him loitering, but had told someone else about him, talked about him enough to have this Noah person know who he was.  Adam thought he was the one in control of this situation, that he was the one watching Ronan, calling the shots on his own schedule.  Today he was learning that when it came to Ronan, perhaps there were some things he needed to rethink.

Ronan turned to him, “Jesus, sorry about that, don’t listen to Noah, he just likes to fuck with me.”

Adam opened his mouth to respond but Noah hopped over, “It all comes from a place of love I assure you.”

He led Ronan and Adam to a small table—the café really was quite miniscule, they were the only other customers there and Noah seemed to be the only employee.  With a flourish, Noah held his arm out and said “Gentlemen, your table.”

Adam smiled, Noah was a bit _more_ than Adam was used to, but undeniably charming nonetheless.  Not to mention the café itself was simply beautiful. Inside and outside of it was teeming with plant life.  Vines crawled across the walls, hanging pots floated above Adam’s head, and every table—of which there were only three—was adorned with a small succulent.  Woven within the vines were delicate fairy lights, and a wide window at the front allowed for an ample amount of sunlight.  The décor was ornate but cozy, and Adam couldn’t stop staring at the display of freshly baked pastries at the front.

Once they sat down, Noah did not leave, but instead looked at Ronan expectantly.

“Well? Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he said, nodding at Adam.

This was when Ronan and Adam both realized that Adam had not yet offered up his name, and neither had Ronan, at least formally.  Adam already felt so known in Ronan’s presence because of the familiarity his voice lent, even though he didn’t really know him at all; and to Ronan, Adam was just a strange man that kept showing up at his place of work.       

His mouth was faster than his mind when he blurted, “Adam Parrish, nice to meet you.”

It should have been second nature for Adam Parrish to pluck out one of his many aliases and use a cover, it should have been second nature for Adam Parrish to slip into the role of someone else, it should have been second nature for Adam Parrish to let Adam Parrish fade away entirely.  But this time, it wasn’t.  This time, Adam Parrish wanted to just be Adam Parrish.  And he could let himself have that, for now.

Noah, impossibly, brightened even more and ignored his outstretched hand, instead clasping Adam on the shoulder and saying, “Likewise”, before giving Ronan another look and heading back to the counter.

Ronan sighed, cocking his head to look at Adam, “Parrish, huh?  What is that, French or something?”

Adam almost laughed out loud.  His lineage was not exactly something he liked to dwell on in any capacity.  His deaf ear was not a result of his job, but his job was a result of his deaf ear, in one way or another.  When cautioned that in this industry he wouldn’t have much time for family, Adam took that as a bonus rather than a warning. 

Instead of explaining any part of that though, Adam twisted the conversation back to Ronan, “Lynch, huh?  What is that, Irish or something?”

Adam had spent a great deal of time looking at names, and then connecting those names to where they had originated.  Ronan’s skin that was so pale he almost put Noah’s luminous pallor to shame, combined with the slight curl that Adam could see forming from where his hair was a little long near his neck helped clue him in too.

“Yeah actually, it is” Ronan said, seeming a little shocked at how perceptive Adam was.

“So what’s an Irishman like you doing in Rome?”

Ronan waved a hand over himself, “What the hell do you mean ‘like me’?”

Adam mimicked Ronan’s hand movement, highlighting the black swaths covering his body in comparison to the twinkling atmosphere surrounding them.  Adam wasn’t in an entirely great place to judge as he was simply sporting an old Coca-Cola shirt and jeans, but he was also lacking the shaved head and tattoo.

“I don’t know, you just don’t strike me as the little Italian bookshop on the corner type.  At least not completely.  More street racing with a side of thrown punches here and there.”

Tilting his head, Ronan looked like he was attempting to scrutinize Adam in return, and that’s how he knew he was right on the money.  Reading people was a skill acquired slowly over time, but one Adam was very adept in.  Adam could figure out most people pretty quickly, and he did his best to ensure that people could not do the same to him.

“Can’t a man be multi-faceted these days?  We’ve barely even met and you’re already criticizing my life choices.  That usually takes people until at least the third date to do,” Ronan said. 

Adam let a chuckle slip out, Ronan’s immediate ferocity reminding him of Blue.

“Okay first of all, who said anything about a date, and second of all I’m not criticizing you. If anything, I’m complimenting you by recognizing that there’s no way you’re just a bookstore employee.  Ronan Lynch must have _layers_ ,” Adam replied, stringing “layers” out until it was as long as the plant curled around the table.

This time it was Ronan who barked out a laugh as he responded, “Well, Parrish, if you must know, I’m not exactly here of my own volition.  My asshole of an older brother works here doing god-knows-what, and when our parents died he decided, without asking me of course, that being here with him was best.  Technically I’m here on a study abroad I guess.”

He paused. Looked up at Adam.

“And save the ‘I’m sorry’s’.  I’ve heard it enough.”

Adam simply nodded, he understood.  He also noticed how Ronan completely skipped over the date comment.

Adam plucked an interesting detail out of the bunch, “A study abroad?  What are you in school for?”

Ronan’s eyes cut away from Adam as he said, “See, that’s why I said ‘technically’.  I’m not actually in school.  But I am abroad.  And I am studying.  Latin’s the only reason I haven’t left this shitfuckery of a city yet.”

Adam perked up at this, right as Noah appeared with two steaming cups of coffee.  He set them down, and Adam saw that his own cup had a tree drawn on it with foam while Ronan’s looked to have something slightly phallic drawn on his. 

Adam opened his mouth to ask how much he owed for the cup when Noah interrupted, “On the house!” and scurried away, winking at Ronan as he furiously stirred the drink so to obscure Noah’s “artwork”.  The coffee was excellent, as expected.  He could feel Ronan’s eyes on his as he sipped, his stare becoming its own presence between the two of them.

Adam swept the conversation back up before Ronan had a chance to turn it to Adam, “That doesn’t explain working at Excelsior though, not when, no offense, but your ‘Latin’ section is kind of abysmal.”

The corner of Ronan’s lip quirked up as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out underneath them.  His leg came to rest precariously close to Adam’s; if he moved the slightest bit their knees would knock.

“Oh no, that’s all Gansey.  Hell, Gansey’s the only reason I’m really able to stay here in the first place.  My brother wasn’t exactly fond of me, as he called it, ‘gallivanting around the city’.  So I either had to find a job myself or work for him, and since I’d rather die than interact with him on a daily basis, I went with finding my own job.  I was actually sitting here at Nino’s one day, when Gansey walked in, whining to Noah about how ‘it’s just impossible to find reliable help these days’.  I thought, I’m pretty fucking reliable.  And now, here we are,” Ronan said.

Here we are indeed.  It all sounded genuine, and Adam didn’t detect any of the common signs of deception in his story.  He could be a low-level agent, only brought on for specific jobs, not involved in a lot of the actual field work.  There was only one incongruity that Adam could spot.

“So, if you detest being tethered here to your brother as much as you claim, why don’t you just…leave?” Adam questioned.

Once again, the furrowed brow, the annoyance rising, then fading, before Ronan responded, “Am I being interviewed for my biography or something?  I do have another brother.  He’s younger though, and at one of those fancy as shit international schools around here.  I’m not so much of a dick that I’d leave him here with only my older brother for company.”

Adam saw the lines in Ronan’s face soften when his younger brother was mentioned.  Adam couldn’t imagine feeling so tethered to a place just because of one single person.  It sounded exhausting.

“Anyway, that’s enough about my life for a century or three.  What about you, Mister Adam Parrish, scouring the shelves for obscure Latin texts day in and day out? You’ve been awfully silent” Ronan continued, eyes settling back on Adam’s face, focused.

Adam was used to having people’s attention fully pinned on him, but he wasn’t used to having people’s attention fully pinned on _him_ , rather than whatever role he had fell into for the occasion.

“Oh, it’s just because my life is far less interesting than yours.  I’m originally from the states, Virginia actually.  I came here for my job, but I have some time off now and I decided to stick around, maybe check out the city,” Adam said, giving an abbreviated version of the truth in order not to spin himself into a web of lies.

“Virginia?  Well fuck me, that’s where I’m from too, like, right by the West Virginia border” Ronan said.

This surprised Adam.  It also told Adam something that he had suspected, but hadn’t been able to confirm: Ronan Lynch was wealthy.  Adam had also grew up near the West Virginia border, and as a result, had developed an accent, one that he had learned to carefully mask.  The only people from around there that didn’t have that accent, unless they adopted it by choice, were the supremely wealthy, who settled down in the area for the “easy, quaint life” that Adam had often scorned.  And Ronan certainly did not have that accent.

Seeing as Adam was not about to offer up any additional information about growing up in Virginia, Ronan prodded, “All the way out here in Rome for your job?  Must be something pretty fancy, huh?”

Adam waved him off with a dismissive, “Ah, no, it’s really kind of complicated and it would be a waste of time to try and explain something that dull.”

He then saw his chance, his way to stay in Ronan’s atmosphere and motivation to keep Adam around considering that so far, Adam hadn’t really given him much reason to,

“What I’m more interested in however, is getting to see this city more.  You could say I’m in need of a tour guide…” he trailed off.

At this, Ronan’s demeanor brightened, but that was soon quashed under the guise of nonchalance.  He leaned back in his chair even more and stretched out his legs, fully colliding them with Adam’s.  Adam didn’t move.

“Hmm…enticing offer Parrish, but I have to warn you: I’m not going to be your traditional tour guide.  I’ll take you to the typical touristy shit or whatever if you want, but the good stuff’s behind all that,” he said, feigning a straight face, but Adam noticed the twitch in his lip.

He finished up the last of his drink, “Lynch, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He made a move to stand up when Ronan stopped him, hand wrapped around wrist.  The skin to skin contact was a touch to hot stove coils, except Adam’s immediate reaction wasn’t to pull away, but to press further into the shock of heat. 

“Forgetting something?” he inquired.  Adam noticed that Ronan’s wrist was adorned with several worn leather bands.

He looked back at Ronan quizzically before realizing, “Oh, right, Noah’s tip.”

“I was talking about getting each other’s numbers,” Ronan said, although he did dig a few bills out of his pocket to throw on the table.

“Don’t have a phone.  Well, I do, but it’s for business use only,” Adam said.

Ronan scoffed, “Ah, of course Mr. Aloof wouldn’t use a phone.”

Adam extracted himself from Ronan’s grasp.  He could see Noah watching them out of the corner of his eye, even though he acted like he was busy sweeping. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.  I still need to take another look at that book I’ve been meaning to get,” he said, deliberately meeting Ronan’s eyes before turning and exiting the café.

He thought he heard Ronan call him an asshole under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go!! As one may say, it's starting, it's starting. I hope you enjoyed, even though admittedly this is in my opinion the weakest chapter of the fic, so it only gets better from here!


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later, Adam was back at Excelsior.  Ronan appeared to be absent from his usual position, as Gansey was manning the register.

When he heard the bell on the door ring, he looked up, catching Adam’s eye, and face lighting up as if Adam were an old friend.

“Hello and welcome to Excelsior Books!  How can I assist you today?”

His wireframes were slightly askew as they slid down the bridge of his nose. 

“Uh, actually, I’m looking for an employee of yours…Ronan Lynch?  Is he off today or something?”

At the drop of Ronan’s name, Gansey’s face transformed.  Lost was the good-natured, albeit slightly hollow, enthusiasm he had displayed upon Adam’s entrance, and in its place was genuine intrigue and Adam knew that now he really had Gansey’s attention, complete with the appearance of two deep-set dimples.  It was as if Ronan’s name was a password that Gansey assumed nobody else knew.  This seemed disparate with the fact that Ronan himself wore a nametag while working, but Adam was quickly coming to understand that Rome may not be a place his usual logic could be applied to.

“You may just be the first person to ever willingly ask to be in Ronan’s presence, besides maybe myself, Matthew, and Noah” Gansey said, leaning over the counter.

Adam didn’t know who Matthew was, but quickly remembered Ronan mentioning his younger brother and filled in the gaps. 

“I’m not sure if you remember but I came in a couple days ago, and we went to grab coffee?  Ronan said he would show me around the city, but we never really nailed down a date, so I thought I could just stop by…If he’s not here today though I can go,” he paused and stuck out his hand, adding, “I’m Adam Parrish, by the way.”

Recognition flooded Gansey’s face, and he grabbed Adam’s hand with a firm grip.

“Ah yes, the infamous Adam Parrish! My apologies for not recognizing you sooner, I’ve heard so much about you!  Oh, don’t make that face, it’s not really ‘so much’, only relative to how much Ronan speaks about anyone other than himself, it is.  I will say, he seems to be taking this tour guide business rather seriously, and he is in today.  He’s just on his lunch break, but he’ll be back soon,” Gansey said, all the while shaking Adam’s hand.

Finally, freeing Adam’s hand from his grasp, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a mint leaf, which he promptly popped into his mouth and began to chew.  The fact that he didn’t offer one to Adam signaled that this was something integral to Gansey’s nature, not like when someone might decide to chew a piece of gum, more akin to when someone unconsciously scratches an itch, or chews on their lip. 

“Are you Ronan’s boss?” Adam asked, recalling Gansey and Ronan’s earlier exchange, in which Gansey attempted to impose some sort of authority over Ronan, of which Ronan did not seem to take much stock in.

Gansey propped his head up on his hand as he answered, “Technically, yes.  I am the owner of this bookstore so it would seem that way, but I’d really call it more of a partnership between friends.  He refuses to let me pay him, claiming that letting him make his own schedule is payment enough.”

The idea of working without pay was a completely foreign concept to Adam.  He had worked himself to death, almost literally at times, to put himself through college by way of scholarship and nothing but what he had earned himself.  This sentiment carried through to his later life, where even now, with being afforded a decent salary, he wasn’t one to spend extravagant amounts of it.  With the nature of Adam’s profession having him constantly flitting from one location to the next, material goods wouldn’t last, because they had nowhere to go. 

“Oh, I have to ask,” Gansey said, perking up, “what do you know about Welsh kings?”

It was at this moment that Adam decided he liked Gansey.

“Honestly? Close to nothing.  However, I am willing to learn.”

It was at this moment that, if Adam had to guess, Gansey decided he liked Adam as well.

Over the course of a little less than an hour Adam listened intently as Gansey lectured on Owain Glendower, a dead king who Gansey claimed was sleeping, simply waiting to be woken up.  He told of the illusive favor promised to whomever woke him, and Adam wondered what Gansey possibly had to ask for.  Adam would not call himself a medievalist, but the raw passion Gansey exuded was contagious. 

Along the way a map had been pulled out, sprawled across the counter between them.  Adam found himself scrupulously peering over it, remembering where he’d been and cross-referencing that with places Gansey had also been in his search.  Their paths were eerily similar; Adam seemed to always be just a step or two behind Gansey.  

Gansey was pointing out a particularly powerful ley line suspiciously close to where Adam grew up when a firm hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.  Gansey, broken out of his musing, looked just as startled.  Adam saw the store owner persona build, then get demolished in a matter of seconds when he recognized who had interrupted them.

“Dick already got to you, huh?” Ronan said, surveying the two of them spread over the map.

Gansey sighed and directed towards Adam, “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to mention, my full name is Richard Campbell Gansey III.  I know, it’s utterly obnoxious.”

A name fit for a king, fit for Gansey.  Adam hadn’t known Gansey for long, but it was long enough to know that he was destined for greatness in whatever he did.

The door rang, and a man walked in, wearing all grey.  He approached them and Gansey immediately extracted himself from the conversation in order to ask him if he needed any assistance.  He thought he heard the man say he was looking for Anglo-Saxon poetry in its original Old English, but really, Adam was a little distracted.

Ronan’s arm was still slung around his shoulder, and Adam wasn’t well acquainted with the concept of casual intimacy.  Touch to Adam was a calculated movement, something with an end goal attached.  Touch for information, for faux familiarity in order to get close to a mark, touch for power.  Although it was new, it wasn’t unwanted.  The heavy weight of Ronan’s arm on Adam felt grounding, and looking up at Ronan, he realized that dark blue eyes were already turned in his direction.

“I like Gansey,” Adam said.

“Most people do,” Ronan replied.

He removed his arm and stepped behind the register.  Knocking his knuckles twice on the counter, he looked up, a faint blush swept across his cheeks.  _Interesting,_ Adam noted.

“So, uh, were you looking for me or something?” Ronan asked.

Adam smiled, “And if I was?”

Ronan grinned in kind, “Well, _if_ you were, I’d tell you that I need to finish my shift, then we could get a start on the Exclusive Rome Tour ala Lynch.”

He hesitated, “If you want.”

“I don’t know…might have to sleep on it.”

“Asshole.  Meet me back here in an hour.”

Adam rocked back on his heels, “Yeah, about that. Mind if I just hang out here in the meantime? I guess I could go to Nino’s—”

Ronan interrupted him, “Don’t worry about it.  Hell, you can crash in the back for all I care, and Gansey’s already put you in his will so I know he won’t mind.”

“Actually, I think I’ll just stay out here,” Adam said, spotting an open reading chair, and settling in.  He was close enough that he could observe Ronan, but far enough away that Ronan couldn’t do the same to him.

Ronan easily resumed his position, much like the one Adam first saw him in.  He could see that this was all very routine to Ronan: waiting for a customer to approach, checking them out with not a hint of the customer-friendly smile Gansey kept plastered to his face, but not being explicitly rude either, money exchanging hands, rinse and repeat.  He could also see that as much as Ronan claimed he didn’t want to be here, this routine comforted him, and being at Excelsior, whether that was due to the bookstore itself, or those who populated it, i.e. Gansey, relaxed him. 

This struck Adam as discordant with his own experience being an agent, which complicated the still murky question of how, or rather, if, Ronan truly was who Adam heard on the radio.  He knew that he would recognize that voice anywhere, and he did.  However, concrete evidence to confirm that fact was lacking.  This tension would usually cause Adam more worry than it did at the present, which also, in a way, worried him.  There was nothing to suggest that Ronan was involved, but then again, he could be deep undercover and just good at doing his job. 

Adam changed his mediations from the mental to the physical.  Ronan had shrugged off his jacket to reveal a plain black t-shirt stretched across his chest, the collar slightly distressed lending Adam a better view of his tattoo, which he found himself more and more fascinated by each time it crossed his mind. 

He watched Ronan absentmindedly bring his wrist up to this mouth and chew on the leather bands that lived there. He watched Ronan ring up the man dressed in all grey, who had chosen several poetry books to purchase.  He watched Ronan’s gaze furtively slide over to him every so often.  He watched Ronan.  It was at once an indulgence, and a necessity.  He tried to be keenly aware of his surroundings as much as possible, and his place within those surroundings.  D always said he was a natural, and Adam supposed he was right, it seemed only fitting that he ended up here.

“You’ll fuck up your neck sleeping like that.”

Adam blinked, looked up.  Ronan was peering over him, and Adam deduced that he had dozed off.  This didn’t particularly surprise him as he had fallen asleep in much less ideal conditions before, more than once.  What did surprise him was the fact that Ronan had noticed, or said anything.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, “Thanks for the advice, but I’m no stranger to sleeping in public places.”

Ronan gave him a pointed look, “And I’m no stranger to waking up feeling like pure shit, which is what you’ll be doing if you keep sleeping there.  Plus, you’re distracting me.  Back room, couch, now, move.”

He held out a hand, and Adam grasped it, pulling him out of his seat.  The friction of palm to palm was searing, and Adam’s grip tightened, even as he came to stand firm on his own two feet.  Dropping Adam’s hand, he turned and motioned with his head for Adam to follow, in order to bring them both behind the counter.  Adam stepped through a door that was left ajar, and came to face what was frankly a complete disaster of a room. 

There was, as promised, a couch.  The middle of the room boasted an oversized, atrociously orange loveseat that looked like it had been sewn back together one too many times.  

However, the couch was far from the only thing in the room.  There wasn’t much else in the way of big items, only a massive wooden desk, but what the space lacked in proper furniture it made up for in what he could only describe as _stuff._  On the desk books were stacked so high that he was afraid if he so much as breathed on them they would all topple over.  Leather-bound journals were scattered on every surface, and they looked filled to the brim with various notes and clippings.  Boxes lined the walls, stacked two or three, even four, at a time, and he could see paper spilling out of their tops.  

The centerpiece of the room, of which was very literally covering the entire center of the room, was an intricate and, as far as he could discern, true to scale, cardboard model of the city of Rome.  It was unfinished, but obviously a labor of love.  It was also, painfully so, obviously a labor of Gansey.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to whose shit this all is and the first two guesses don’t count,” Ronan said, appearing over his shoulder.

At that moment, the man in question rounded the corner.

“Ronan! Are you giving customers a tour of my private quarters? I’d say that’s a bit inappropriate,” Gansey said.

Adam turned around, “Oh, um, I’m sorry.  Ronan said I could take a quick nap back here while he finished his shift but I can go, no problem.”

Gansey’s face cleared immediately.

“Oh, Adam, it’s you! No, no, please, make yourself comfortable! Apologies that I couldn’t have cleaned it up a bit before your arrival, but it’s been a busy week.”

Adam wasn’t sure this room was something that could be helped by “a bit” of cleaning, but he thanked Gansey anyway and carefully stepped over the model in order to lay down on the couch.  He wasn’t sure if Ronan had even left the room yet by the time he felt his eyes closing, and he was back asleep within minutes.

Adam started awake, forgetting where he was for a moment, before being accosted by the fluorescence of the couch below him.  He stretched out and noticed an unfamiliar weight on him.  It was heavy, warm, and smelled like a mix of moss and sweat.  It was also, Adam realized, Ronan’s leather jacket.  Ronan must have thrown it over him while he was asleep.  Adam wasn’t used to this—thoughtful gestures tossed his way in such an easy manner.  Blue was a good friend—his best friend—but their relationship was based more on mutual understanding and respect and less on close intimacy and sentimentalities.

Standing, he brought the jacket around his shoulders, and wandered out of the room.  He spotted Ronan at the register, leaning on the counter with a hand to his cheek, looking like his attention was focused anywhere but the bookstore he was supposed to be presiding over.  Hearing him approach, Ronan glanced up, eyes trailing over Adam’s assumedly mussed hair, and jacket that was not his own currently swathing his upper body.

“Morning princess,” Ronan said.

Adam motioned to the jacket with a jerk of his head, “You forget something?”

“It gets cold in there and Gansey can’t be bothered to buy a damn blanket.”

“Well. Thanks.”

Ronan shrugged.

“Do you, uh, want it back now?” Adam asked.  It was hard to tell what Ronan wanted out of any given situation, which both intrigued and unnerved Adam.

Ronan shrugged again, “Sure.”

He moved to take it off and Ronan stood up, squinting as he brought his face close to Adam’s. 

“Can I help you?” Adam said, rearing back.

“Have you always had those little fuckers?” Ronan asked.

“Are you talking about my freckles?”

Ronan nodded, arms crossed.

“Those ‘little fuckers’ become more prominent the longer I’m in the sun so yes, I’ve always had them, but I probably have more of them than when we first met.”

Ronan hummed, “Interesting.  So, Parrish, you have someplace special that you wanted to check out today?”

Adam looked away, muttered, “You’re going to give me shit for it because it’s so touristy.”

A glint surfaced in Ronan’s eye as he said, “You’re probably right.  Either way, try me.”

Adam crossed his arms and Ronan mirrored him.

“I want to see the Trevi Fountain.”

He knew it was basic.  He knew that there were probably some amazing sights to see that weren’t at the top of every Trip Advisor list. But he also knew that it was probably at the top of every list for a reason, a reason he wanted to see for himself, and Adam Parrish was anything if not thorough.

“Hmm, you know, not a bad choice if you _had_ to pick a place that everyone and their mother wants to go to.” Ronan considered him, “It’s alright, we’ll work our way up to the good stuff later.”

Adam rolled his eyes; he knew the jab held no real heat.  Moreover, he was interested in what Ronan had up his sleeve for later, and the fact there already was a definite later.

Ronan glanced at the clock on the wall and went on, “I’m technically off now so we can head out whenever.”

Adam nodded and headed to the door, but Ronan yelled out “Whoa, where are you going?”

He turned, confused, “Um, the door?  So we can go to the fountain?”

“Oh, Parrish, Parrish, Parrish,” Ronan chastised. 

A wicked grin spread across his face, as terrifying as it was attractive, “Did you really think we were walking all the way there?”

“I don’t know what else you expected me to think,” Adam said, staring blankly at him.

Ronan dug into his pocket and pulled something out—a pair of car keys.  They jangled in front of Adam’s face and he caught sight of the familiar BMW roundel.  Working as a car mechanic all through high school, Adam knew a thing or two about the mechanical beasts.  He also knew what kind of people had BMW’s, affirming Ronan’s wealth even more.

“It would be just too easy to have an Italian sports car while in Italy huh, you had to be different and drive a German one instead,” Adam said.

Ronan huffed at Adam’s comment, muttering, “Do you want to go to this damn fountain not?”

He did want to go to that damn fountain.  There was also a part of him that wanted to ride in a BMW rather than change its oil.

Throwing the keys in the air and catching them, Ronan turned on his heel and began to walk to a door Adam hadn’t even noticed, presumably leading to a side parking lot.  Gansey popped his head out of one of the stacks and said, “You two heading out for the day?  Have fun and be safe!”—this in turn elicited a small wave from Adam, and a, “Thanks, Dad”, from Ronan.

He looked over his shoulder and paused as he opened the door, waiting for Adam.  And really, was he going to do anything else but follow?

The BMW was magnificent, because of course it was, and unmistakably Ronan’s.  It was severe, striking, and stunning—a mirror to its owner.  Coated in a dark charcoal, it wasn’t as sleek as some of the newer models prowling the streets today, but Adam was enamored all the same.  Enamored by the sharp corners of its nose, lost to the years as future iterations had theirs shaved down.  Enamored by the plush leather interior he saw through the windows.  Enamored by the man about to be behind its wheel.  But he didn’t let himself dwell on that for long.

Ronan opened the passenger side door, bowed slightly and tipped an invisible hat to Adam, “M’lady.”

Adam highly reconsidered that last thought as he gave Ronan a crisp middle finger and slid in.  Ronan laughed and fell into the driver’s side.  The engine purred as he twisted the keys, a sound Adam couldn’t help but relish in.

However, this sound was quickly drowned out once the stereo kicked in.  Loud electronica assaulted Adam through the speakers, and for once he was glad he could only hear out of one ear because it was the most offensively awful thing he had ever listened to.  He told Ronan as much.

“Oh fuck off, it’s excellent and you know it.  Just wait until the Murder Squash Song comes on.  Screw this fountain, _that’s_ the real masterpiece,” Ronan replied, although he did reach down to lower the volume to dull roar rather than a raging scream.

They peeled out of the lot with more flourish than necessary, tires squealing and gravel kicking up behind them.  It didn’t take long to notice how comfortable Ronan was behind the wheel.  He shifted gears like he was breathing and speed was his oxygen.  His left hand rested low on the steering wheel, unassuming but assured.  Adam realized that the bookstore was Gansey’s territory, and he had just stepped firmly into Ronan’s.

“Do you know where you’re going?”  Adam asked after it seemed as if Ronan was merely taking any back road he could turn onto.

Ronan turned his head to give Adam a look that meant he shouldn’t have asked.

“Yes, Parrish, please, lead me to this so-called ‘Trevi Fountain’”, Ronan replied, over enunciating the name so it sounded absurd, “It’s not like it’s one of the most famous places in all of Rome, or like I’ve lived here for years or anything.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a dick?”

“I didn’t know we invited Gansey, did he hop in the backseat?”

“You’re impossible.”

Adam was rewarded with a smile from Ronan, all teeth, that he couldn’t help but answer with one of his own.

They sat in silence for a bit, before Adam blurted out, “I worked for a couple years as a car mechanic.  In high school.”  He wasn’t sure what compelled him to offer up this tidbit of personal truth, to give it to Ronan like it was nothing, like Adam didn’t live a different lie every day and make his living off of it.

Ronan looked over, eyebrows raised, intrigued.  “Is that so?  Is this your way of saying you’ll repair my car for me for free if it breaks down?”

“Nice try, but no.  You might get lucky with a friends and family discount, though.”

“Friends and family? I get the honor of calling _the_ Adam Parrish my friend? Wow,” Ronan sighed dramatically at the end, and fanned himself with the hand not on the wheel.

“Please, I wouldn’t let just let anyone take me on a tour of Rome.”  This, flirting—was Adam really flirting just now?—aside, was at least true.

Ronan cut his eyes over to Adam and smirked, “Well, glad I made the cut.”

“Me too,” Adam said, quietly enough that he didn’t know if Ronan could hear him, or if he even wanted him to.

Ronan’s hand flexed on the gear shift, indicating a semblance of comprehension, but he stayed silent.  Adam let his head fall against the window as they sped on.  To the Trevi Fountain, but also, Adam felt, to something else entirely.

…

After about another ten minutes, Ronan pulled them over to the side of a road, in front of an innocuous street shop, and killed the engine.

“Wow”, Adam said dryly, “it’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

“Hilarious, Parrish, really you’re killing me here,” Ronan responded, mirroring Adam’s intonation.

He opened the door and continued, “It’s only like a five-minute walk from here, and there’s no way in hell I’m dealing with the clusterfuck they call ‘parking’ when you get any closer.”

Adam nodded, fair enough, and followed Ronan out, hearing the door locks click behind them.

Almost exactly five minutes later—Ronan’s estimation had been eerily on the mark—they approached what Adam could only assume was the fountain in question.  There were so many people crowded around that from their vantage point he really couldn’t see much of it, but what he saw was enough to know the trip had already been worth it.  It was massive, and overwhelming, and all of a sudden Ronan had a hold of his hand and was dragging him forward.

Grip secure, Ronan cut a path through the crowd like he and Adam were a freshly sharpened blade.  People, oddly enough, didn’t protest.  Whether this was due to Ronan’s countenance ending that conversation before it could even start, or just sheer luck, Adam wasn’t sure.  Emerging from the crowd, he found himself standing in front of a wrought iron railing, faced with the fountain’s splendor in its entirety.

The sun was high, and it illuminated all the intricacies boasted by the fountain. One would think that with the abundant globe-trotting Adam did, he would have become immune to things like this.  Things people paid extravagant amounts of money to go see, while Adam got paid to invade them, to desecrate their grounds with the oil tinged morality he played in.  This did happen on occasion.  His only experience with the Eifel Tour was one that reeked of false smiles and bitter champagne. 

Adam felt none of these burdens staring at the Trevi Fountain, and the Palazzo Poli that formed its backdrop.  He felt like a young man seeing one of history’s most beautiful creations for the first time.  For a moment, he felt like the wide-eyed youth he never truly got to be.  Adam’s eyes darted around frantically in an attempt to take it all in, from the small but elaborate stone plant-life carved throughout, to the allegorical statues populating its center, to the waters tumbling below, and to the words inscribed up top.

“ _Perfecit Benedictus XIV Point. Max_ …Benedict XIV Pontifex Maximus made perfect,” Adam muttered.

Ronan’s eyes flew to the inscription that Adam had just translated.

“Not bad, Parrish.  A pretty brain inside that pretty head after all.”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”

“Christ, anyone with eyes can see that you’re pretty.  Just take the compliment and be thankful I didn’t try and compare your eyes to the color of the water or some shit,” Ronan said, red blooming on his face.

Adam laughed; even though it wasn’t said initially, it was said now, which means it had crossed Ronan’s mind earlier at least once.  This both amused and pleased him. 

Realizing that their hands were still clasped, the red on Ronan’s cheeks rose even further as he turned his head away and loosened his grip, attempting to detach himself from Adam. 

Adam didn’t utter a word, simply let Ronan’s hand fall enough to break the hold, but not enough for him to pull away completely.  Before he could do that, Adam had lifted Ronan’s hand back up to his own, and nudged one finger in between two of Ronan’s: an invitation as much it was a question.  Their palms were rough against one another, a satisfying bite amidst the smooth stone around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw Ronan jerk his head back and stare at Adam for a beat, who had turned his own head away, back to the fountain.  He then felt fingers completely intertwined with his own, and against his wrist, a steady pulse pounding behind worn leather. 

It was slightly awkward, each of them standing stiffly beside the other, so Adam picked up the conversation from earlier.

“You know, I wasn’t just looking at those Latin books for show.  I know a thing or two about the _lingua mortuis._ ”

Ronan replied, in Latin, with what Adam gathered was supposed to be an insult.  He wasn’t as practiced as he used to be, but even then, he could still tell that while the words fell from Ronan’s tongue smoothly, his grammar was a mess.

He told this to Ronan, who responded with an indignant, “You sound like Gansey.”

Adam shrugged, Ronan meant it to sound like an insult, but he knew that it ran with the undercurrent of just the opposite. 

They were silent for a bit, before Ronan felt around in his pocket with his free hand, and pushed his shoulder against Adam.

“Hey, have you heard about the coin thing?  They say if you drop one in the fountain and make a wish it’ll come true or some shit.”

Adam looked over and saw Ronan’s hand outstretched in his direction, brandishing two coins.  He took one, closed his eyes,

A wish.  A yearning hurled into the universe, propelled by desire and made tangible by its conversion from a thought to a hope.  What did Adam Parrish want?  His life at the moment was sufficiently somewhere between not good and not bad.  Money was okay, and D showered him in praise—or what could only loosely be called ‘praise’ coming from D—after every assignment, so he assumed himself decent at what he did.  He had gotten to a place that kid Adam would be happy with, a static place. He didn’t want for much, but maybe that was the issue.  Maybe what he wanted was something to _want,_ something more.  He wasn’t kid Adam anymore, so he shouldn’t be beholden by those aspirations of simple stability.

Ronan Lynch.  A man Adam knew exclusively by sound for so long that the thought of being able to ascribe any other senses to him was absurd.  Until it wasn’t.  Until he became a body attached to a voice that Adam knew like nothing else, a body that he still didn’t quite know, a body that was still new and strange.  Until he became a possibility for something more.

Adam wished for his intuition to be right, for Ronan to be who the voice on the radio truly belonged to and for Ronan to have the intimate knowledge of this industry necessary in order for Adam to have any chance of a future with him.

and tossed it in.

He opened his eyes, to see Ronan’s on him. They flicked away, a practiced glance.

“What’d you wish for?” Ronan asked, gaze settled back on him now that he had reason to.

“Are you serious? I can’t tell you or else it won’t come true.  That’s like, the first rule of wishes,” Adam said

Harsh breath made its way from Ronan’s throat, a cousin to a scoff, sounding as if he had been smoking for years, although Adam suspected he’d never so much as gone near a cigarette.

“Fuck the rules.  It’s all bullshit.”

“That,” Adam said, rolling his eyes, “is the most cliché thing you, as an all-black wearing, sneering every time you breathe, middle finger to the world, type of person could have possibly said.”

That earned him a glare from the top half of Ronan’s face, but an upturned lip on the bottom half.

“So, what did you wish for then?” Adam continued.

“For Gansey to get a new fucking couch.”

“I think I actually like it, it’s grown on me.”

“You’ve seen it once.”

“And it grew on me.”  Adam let his lips quirk up on the final word.  He could have stayed straight faced the entire time, but sometimes letting the other party in on the façade was half the fun.

“Shithead.”

He squeezed Ronan’s hand in response.  Ronan caused a field of dissonance within Adam.  He was constantly making jabs at him, which in turn, ensured to Adam that he cared.  He made Adam comfortable, which in turn unnerved him. He made Adam feel anchored, which in turn made him want to let go, just as much as it made him want to hold on.

Ronan leaned his shoulder into Adam, head slightly tilted his way.  Adam leaned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are blooming, casual touches are happening, bad latin is being spoken, and cheesy tourist dates are abound. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment; the next chapter is a good one in my completely unbiased opinion, so stay tuned for that next Friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for this chapter, welcome to soft relationship development vignette land, i hope you enjoy your stay

This became their routine.

Adam would show up at Excelsior Books right before Ronan got off work, Ronan would act like it was such a chore to take Adam out, but the minute his shift was over he would grab the BMW’s keys and Adam’s hand, a smile on Gansey’s face as he watched them leave.  Adam would inevitably marvel at wherever sight Ronan had taken him to, falling in love with the city bit by bit, and Ronan would begrudgingly admit that it wasn’t half bad.  Adam would spout off random facts he had read on the internet the night before, such as when it was built, by whom, or why.  Ronan would call him a “fucking nerd”, then—not to be one-upped—prattle off nonsense in his beautifully flawed Latin.  They would let hands swing down and brush, let fingers tangle together, let a hand trail down to the small of the other’s back, let shoulders sweep into one another, all without a second thought. 

…

They visited St. Peter’s Basilica, per Adam’s request.  Although he considered himself agnostic—he didn’t particularly care enough to don the full atheist mantle—churches always ended up being a place of comfort for him.  Many times, if Adam was only in a city for a night, he would forego bothering D for a hotel room in favor of spending it in a church attic.  That’s what he had been doing the night he received his instructions that lead him here, to Rome.  Instructions given to him by the voice who had only earlier that day told him that his hair was a mess, but quickly followed that up with the caveat that he liked messes.  

A large water fountain, flanked by cherubs and filled with water—Adam wondered if it was holy—greeted them as they entered.  Ronan dipped his right fingers in and preformed the sign of the cross.  Adam noticed that the water was roped off, not like Ronan would pay that any mind.  He also noticed the ease at which Ronan completed the action, muscle memory at work.  There was no further mention of it by Ronan, so Adam let it rest, filed it away in his mind, added it to the ever-growing enumeration of things that somehow resulted in Ronan Lynch.

…

They visited an out of the way market, per Ronan’s request.  After exhausting all the spots on Adam’s list, Ronan insisted on taking the reins.  He led them to local markets, small shops, and quiet parks.  They cruised down the backroads, far away from the chaos of the city, one of Adam’s hands flung out the window, fingers spread wide, the other covering Ronan’s over the gear shift, fingers moving over calloused knuckles.  Green bled into beige as they hurtled back into the throes of urbanism.

“You can just drop me off at Excelsior,” Adam said.  Every other time they’d been together Adam had either made up somewhere he needed to be, or claimed he was grabbing coffee on his way home, so that Ronan wouldn’t have to walk with him and enquire where “home” was.  Home was a small apartment found and rented by D before Adam arrived.  Decorations were sparse with a bed, a couch and a nightstand being the extent of his furnishings.  It didn’t look properly lived in because it wasn’t.  Letting Ronan in might invite questions that Adam wasn’t prepared to answer. 

Ronan eyed him.

“I’ll just walk home from there, it’s not far,” Adam went on.

“If it’s not far then I’ll drive you,” Ronan countered.

“No, it’s really fine, I don’t mind walking,” he protested.

“And I don’t mind driving.”

Adam blew out a breath, this was not the time for Ronan’s obstinance to rear its head.  He withdrew his hand.

“Come on, Ronan.  Don’t make this difficult.  Just take me to Excelsior, and let that be the end of it.”  This came out sharper than he intended.

Ronan’s hand flexed on the gear shift and he barked out a harsh laugh.

“Incredible.  Hate to break it to you, but pretty sure you’re the one being difficult.  Jesus, Parrish, fine.  You can keep your fucking air of mystery.  God forbid I try and make things easier on you by driving you home.”

Night air whistled through the windows where they were cracked open.  EDM pumped through the speakers, volume roughly cranked up by Ronan’s hand.  The engine purred.  Adam was silent.

...

They visited a winery, per Gansey’s request.  It wasn’t uncommon for Gansey and Noah to fawn over them, which was as endearing as it was exasperating.  This resulted in Adam entering the shop one day, and not getting three steps in before Gansey shoved two pieces of paper in his hand.  Communication being neither of Ronan or Adam’s strong suits, they had chosen to leave their argument from the other night unaddressed, and continued as if it hadn’t happened, although Adam was sure neither had forgotten. 

“Reservations.  For you and Ronan.  My treat,” Gansey hastily explained.  Purple tinged his under-eye area more than usual, indicating that either a breakthrough was made or a crossroads was hit in regards to his research—either carrying equal possibility. 

“The Old Frascati Wine Tour” was printed across them in ugly but probably overpriced font.  Further reading informed him that this, along with the matching ticket underneath entitled him and Ronan to a complimentary wine tasting and tour of the winery on behalf of Richard Campbell Gansey III, to be redeemed tomorrow afternoon.

“Gansey, I can’t take this, how much did you pay for these?”  Adam said, pushing his hands out towards Gansey.

Adam had taken much more of a liking to Gansey than he initially expected.  Sometimes while waiting for Ronan to be done for the day he followed Gansey around as he rearranged and refilled aisles.  Bouncing new theories off of Adam proved to be something that Gansey excelled at, and poking holes in those theories and suggesting ways to improve them proved to be something Adam excelled at.  Although he still wasn’t sure how convinced he was of this sleeping king’s existence, the hunger that Gansey had for the quest to find him was infectious, and Adam was reminded of what attracted him to his job in the first place. 

Each mission he approached as a puzzle, something to solve that gave such an immense feeling of gratification when completed successfully.  To Adam, actually carrying out the mission was secondary to all the preparation and thought that was required beforehand.  Why he had such a high success rate was because Adam didn’t enter situations where he thought there was a chance of failure.  If that meant losing hours of sleep to perfect a minute part of the plan most other agents would just leave up to fate, then so be it.  Gansey’s quest reminded him of that, and he had missed it.

What Adam was willing to call friendship didn’t assuage the fact that he still wasn’t especially happy about taking gifts.  He used to be much more stringent about it, but after one too many of Blue’s souvenirs that she’d give him after a job, he learned to see them for what they were—tokens given with care, not handouts given with pity.  However, a tour of one of the nicest wineries in Rome was a little different than a mug with “Adam” scrawled on it in garish font underneath a picture of Buckingham Palace.

Gansey placed his hands over Adam’s and pushed the tickets right back at him.

“Nonsense, Adam, you can and you will take them.  They cost me nothing!  My family makes annual donations there, so as a thank you they award us complimentary vouchers from time to time.  I never use them, and I don’t plan to, so they’ll just be going to waste if you and Ronan don’t go,” Gansey said.

Adam sighed, and Gansey smiled, dimples erupting to celebrate his assumed victory.

Ronan appeared from behind Adam, hooking his chin on Adam’s shoulder and plucking one of the papers out of his hand.  The lesson of touch, genuine touch, was not one Adam was particularly proficient in, but he was quickly learning that Ronan was. A knock of the shoulders or a raised middle finger was Ronan’s way of making small talk.  It also was Ronan’s way of grounding Adam, of bringing him out of his constantly working mind, and tethering him here to the present.  More and more, Adam found himself missing that touch when it wasn’t around.

“You guys passing dirty notes? I want in,” Ronan asked, eyes scanning the vouchers.

“Oh no, you caught us, how salacious,” Adam said, as Gansey sputtered out, “Certainly not!”

“The Old Frascati Wine Tour?” Ronan said, digging his chin rhythmically into Adam’s shoulder as he spoke.  “Seems like a place full of fancy fake people pretending to know shit about fancy overpriced alcohol.”

Adam turned his head to the side so he could look at Ronan.

“So, does that mean you don’t want to go?” he asked hopefully.

Ronan cracked a feral grin and stepped back.

“Fuck no, we’re going.  Gansey, I’m going to need tomorrow off.  Parrish, wear something nice,” he said over his shoulder as he strode back to the register.

 

 _Wear something nice,_ Adam repeated to himself as he stared at his closet.  And by closet he meant a cardboard box with clothes thrown haphazardly into it.  Adam had a nice outfit, that wasn’t the issue.  The issue was that Adam’s wardrobe consisted of extremes only—very casual, and very formal.  Worn t-shirts made up much of Adam’s personal collection, with a sweatshirt or two tossed in for variety.  Folded very neatly to the side of the box was a tailored three-piece suit curtesy of D, delivered before he even arrived in the city, but fit him perfectly.

It was necessary for the job he was sent here to do initially, but it felt like far too much for an afternoon wine tour.  It was mainly dark grey, with a light blue tie, and after Blue demanded a picture of him in it, she had given it her seal of approval.

 **Hot stuff!! Now go and find yourself a nice Italian man ((-;** was her exact de-coded response.  Adam smiled thinking of it, he missed her.  They didn’t get to be together in person much anymore, but it was moments like this that he wished she were in Rome with him.  He wanted to show her how beautiful the city was.  He wanted to show her Excelsior Books, as she would undoubtably be charmed by the shop and its owner—but she would deny the second part.  He wanted to show her Ronan; they were much more alike than either would probably admit.  He wanted to show her himself, not working, and happy.

Blue would tell him to get out of his head and make whatever needed to happen, happen.  So, he set out to deconstruct the suit.  He figured that if he ditched the jacket and vest, leaving only the pants, dress-shirt and tie, it would be toned down enough.  Still a bit more formal than he had envisioned, but it would suffice.  He couldn’t even imagine what Ronan would be wearing.

Adam was going to lose his mind.  He had faced men so powerful that with a flick of their wrist their enemies would be dead, and with a nod of their head the person who looked at them wrong would be effaced from history, but none of these men compared to Ronan Lynch in a sweater and dress pants.

They had met at Excelsior, Ronan driving them from there, and when he stepped out of the car Adam had to do a double take.  He had never seen Ronan in anything other than black jeans—almost always ripped—a black t-shirt or tank top, and occasionally his leather jacket.  His color palette hadn’t gained any variety, but he was now sporting black dress pants, and a black sweater, which, in Adam’s opinion, fit him just delightfully.  The sweater was a tight fit, but not obnoxiously so, and most people probably wore another shirt underneath, but as Ronan wasn’t most people he didn’t, which meant that Adam could still let his eyes linger on the tattoo that crept its way across his skin.

“Shit, Parrish, it seems I’ve been out staged.  You look mighty fine,” Ronan said, words dripping on the last two words with an attempt at faking Adam’s accent that he’d begun to let slip out from time to time.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you clean up pretty well too,” Adam said. 

Stepping closer to him, Ronan reached out and lightly tugged on Adam’s tie.

“Come on, let’s go.”

The drive was spent mostly in companionable silence.  It was only a half hour away but Adam was sure he dozed off a time or two.  Ronan had also rolled up his sleeves, and Adam couldn’t help but catalog the ways in which the tension in his arm muscles built and then released each time he shifted gears.  Adam made an offhand comment asking if Ronan had an agenda against ties and he responded that ties meant church which meant frustration as much as salvation, so he decided a sweater was less complicated.  Apparently, it had been a Christmas gift from Matthew and Ronan felt he owed it to him to wear it at least once.  Adam made a note to thank Matthew if he ever met him.

Ronan revved the engine as they pulled into the parking area “so they’re aware that the guests of honor have finally arrived”.  Adam let him have it.

As expected, the winery was impressive, both in terms of size and sight.  Ronan tried to act indifferent to it all, but by the end of the tour his neck was craned just as much as Adam’s in an attempt to see the full scope of the vineyard.  They were in a group of about ten others, all looking like the type of people that Adam imagined populating the Gansey family parties.  He’d never been surrounded by so many chino’s and polo’s in his entire life, and didn’t particularly want to be again.  Adam may have slightly over-dressed, but at least he wasn’t wearing boat shoes.

Ronan seemed to be of a similar mind as about halfway through he gave Adam a once-over, then leaned over to mutter in his ear, “We’ve got all these tasteless assholes beat.” 

A woman readjusted her uncomfortably small cardigan and shot them a look—this earned Ronan a nudge in his side from Adam.

Their tour guide was…nice.  Almost uncomfortably so.  Ronan tensed whenever he came near them, which was more often than with the other visitors, Adam noted.  He would also let his eyes land on Adam with a startling regularity, enough so that after the most recent time Ronan scowled and grabbed at Adam’s hand, then dropped it.  Adam stuck out his pinky finger and curved it around Ronan’s.

The tour had just finished, and Ronan and Adam were perched at a small high table off to the side of the room while they waited for the wine tasting section to begin.  They were taking bets on how many people there had timeshares when their tour guide approached, wine bottle in hand.

“Did you two enjoy today’s tour?”

“Yes, we did, thanks,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes and reading the nametag, “Tad.”

Tad beamed, and set the wine bottle on the table.

“I’m so glad to hear that.  Take this bottle, on me.  And, if you, um, ever need someone to share it with,” during this last part he turned his head to subtly direct it towards Adam, “just let me know.”

Adam smiled thinly, “That’s very kind of you.”

“Yeah,” Ronan slowly repeated, “very kind.”

Adam hooked his ankle around Ronan’s from under the table, which resulted in an almost immediate relaxing of his posture.

“Alright, well, I’ve got another tour starting so if you’ll excuse me,” Tad said, giving a brief nod to them both and heading out.

“Jesus, he was all over you.  I wasn’t kidding earlier when I said I’d been out staged, but fuck I thought he was going to try and blow you the second I left to take a piss,” Ronan said, bringing his leg closer so it was flush with Adam’s.

Adam waved him off, “Please, it’s only because you look like you’re about to bite the head off of anyone who looks at you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Adam cut him a look, and Ronan rolled the wine bottle between his hands.

“Hey, want to get out of here?” Ronan began, “Need someone to share this with?” This he finished with a mocking grin.

“Now? We haven’t even finished the whole thing yet; the wine tasting is supposed to start soon.”

Ronan shook the bottle in his hand, “Oh trust me, I have no intention of missing out on the wine tasting.”

The tour had been nice, seeing the vineyards had been nice, being treated like he was important, not because he was being duplicitous but just because he was here, was nice.  It was also tiring being around people who felt entitled to this level of treatment on a daily basis, and he was beginning to think he had overstayed his welcome.

Adam ran a hand through his hair, then nodded, “Alright, let’s go.”

Adam stood up, and held his hand out to Ronan, who took it easily, grasping tight, and smiling wide.

Halfway through the drive, Adam realized he didn’t know where exactly they were driving _to._

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Ronan drummed his fingers across the top of the steering wheel.

“Hadn’t exactly planned that far yet.  I know your place is under classified lock and key, but mine’s open,” he paused, glancing over to Adam, “if you want.  I’m fucking starving so I’ll probably make something to eat.”

Going back to Ronan’s apartment meant something, and Adam knew it.  Hanging around Excelsior and visiting places in Rome was one thing.  It was fun and harmless.  It was the two of them, but it was also Gansey, a tour group, or an entire city.  This didn’t have that padding, this was intimate.  This was Adam saying, _I want to see where Ronan Lynch lives, to see if I have any place in that life._

This was Adam turning his head towards the window, sticking his hand out to feel the breeze slice through his fingers.

This was Adam saying, “Sure” and seeing Ronan’s fingers settle on the wheel in response.

Ronan’s apartment was in one of the nicest areas of the city.  Opening the door, he saw that the actual unit was also incredibly nice.  Undeniably modern and spacious—but not extravagantly so—it had exposed ceiling beams that leaned more on the less-than-modern accents scattered around such as the doors.  This didn’t shock Adam.  What shocked Adam was the giant black bird—a raven? —that flew in from the open window as soon as they walked in.  What shocked Adam even more was the familiarity at which Ronan offered up his shoulder for the bird to perch on, a strange sound, a “kerah!” being let loose from its mouth as it settled.

“Chainsaw, meet Adam.  Adam, Chainsaw,” Ronan said, motioning between Adam and the bird—Chainsaw. 

He waved lamely, “Um, hi, nice to meet you.”

Chainsaw squawked in reply.

“Aw, she likes you,” Ronan mused as he scratched her chin, “how sweet.  She’s a pretty good judge of character.”

Adam hesitantly reached a hand out to Chainsaw, and to his surprise she bent down and let him pet her head.  Ronan’s eyes warmed at the sight.

“So, you have a pet raven,” Adam said, pulling away.

“Sure do.  Raised her—stop that you shithead this shirt’s new—since she was a baby.”

The thought of Ronan carefully taking care of a tiny baby bird was at once anachronous to what Adam knew about him, and also made perfect sense.  It also struck Adam as profoundly charming, and he wished he was there to bear witness to it.

“Okay now fuck off, I have to cook dinner,” Ronan said, shrugging Chainsaw off his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen.  She flew through an open door into what Adam supposed was Ronan’s bedroom.  Ronan followed her and Adam, unsure of what else to do, settled in on a large couch in the middle of the room. 

This would be the perfect time to try and uncover any information that may be linked to information regarding Adam’s status as an agent.  It would be, but a cursory glance yielded nothing to suggest nor deny knowledge on Ronan’s part.  This was where Ronan lived, but it was clearly not his home. The aesthetic cohesion present in the interior decorating was not something that Adam guessed could be attributed to Ronan, and yes, it was filled with things, but Adam could tell things was all they were.  None had inherited any greater value apart from the dollar amount.  None besides a book with its spine cracked sitting on an end table.  Picking it up, Adam saw that it was a book of collected poetry by W.B. Yeats.  He flipped through to see that one poem was dog-eared, starred, and when flipped to, gave way easily under the book’s binding: “He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven”.

            _Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,_

_Enwrought with golden and silver light,_

_The blue and the dim and the dark cloths_

_Of night and light and the half light._

_I would spread the cloths under your feet:_

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;_

_I have spread my dreams under your feet’_

_Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

Hearing Ronan emerge from his room, Adam closed the book and set it back on the table.  He had changed, defaulting to a black t-shirt per usual, but this time his black jeans were replaced by dark grey sweatpants.  Adam noticed the holes in the shoulder of his shirt, as he always had, but now, he realized they were made my Chainsaw, and not put there before purchase as an edgy fashion choice like he had once thought.  A pair of black sweatpants and accompanying hoodie was tossed on Adam’s head as Ronan walked by.

“To change into.  Thought it’d be a little more comfortable than that noose around your neck.”

“Oh, thanks,” Adam hesitated, “Where’s the, um, bathroom?” 

Ronan jerked his head towards a door on the right that was left ajar.  The act of sliding his legs into Ronan’s sweatpants and pulling his head through Ronan’s sweatshirt was not one that Adam wanted to dwell on.  He didn’t want to think about how clothes became a part of you if you wore them long enough, about how by letting the soft fleece of the hoodie warm him, he was letting Ronan warm him too.  He didn’t want to think about how there was a high possibility that Ronan had slept in this, about how he’d look without the guard of lucidity to force a quirked brow, or to pull a sneer from his lip.  So, he didn’t.  He slid them on, gathered his clothes, and exited the bathroom to see Ronan pulling various things from his cabinets.

“Where do you want these?” Adam asked, holding out the ball of clothes in his hand.

“Don’t care, toss ‘em wherever.  The more important question is: spaghetti or ravioli?”

“You cook?”

“I’m the one asking questions.  So, spaghetti or ravioli?”

“Technically I asked the first question.”

Ronan turned to stare at him with narrowed eyes. Wrong answer.

“Ravioli,” Adam tried again.

Ronan turned again, this time to turn the oven on and fill a pot with water.  Right answer.

Adam was soon exiled from the kitchen.  He never really had time, nor reason, to learn the finer aspects involved with cooking.  Boxed macaroni and cheese, ramen, and frozen pizza were all things he had mastered and that seemed good enough for him.  He had never seen Ronan more disappointed than when Adam had told him that.  Regardless of his lack of practical experience in the kitchen, he was quite adept at following directions, of which he tried to convince Ronan, who was having none of it.

“I’m a quick learner.  Just give me something to do and I’ll do it,” he insisted.

Adam picked up an onion.

“Want me to chop this?”

Ronan plucked it out of his hand and swiftly began to dice it.

“No, I don’t.  What I want is for you to sit your ass down on that couch out there while I make this.”

“But I want to help.”

“You can help by getting out of my damn kitchen, Parrish.”

Adam jabbed a finger in Ronan’s side as he left, making him squirm and almost drop the knife.

“You difficult fucker,” Ronan grumbled.

Fatigue welcomed Adam like an old friend as he sank into the couch.

He awoke to Ronan standing over him, pulling at the strings of his hoodie.

“Hey, food’s ready.  Also, are you like fucking narcoleptic or something?”

“Oh shit, I really didn’t mean to fall asleep.  And no, I’m not narcoleptic, just good at accepting sleep wherever I can find it.”

Ronan was still messing with his strings, now attempting to tie them in a bow.  Adam yawned and covered Ronan’s hands with his own, causing Ronan to pause his fiddling and flip his hands over in order to pull Adam up.

The smell hit Adam almost immediately, one of tang from the sauce, salt from the meat, and garlic from the bread.  He breathed in and his stomach immediately growled in response.  Adam saw that at the small dining table their plates were already made, and wine was already poured from the bottle obtained earlier.  Again, he was taken aback by the level of care that Ronan put into his interactions with him.

Flavors unfurled from all directions as Adam took his first bite.  It was impeccable, by far the best meal he’d had in ages, and he had to hold himself back from tipping his head back in ecstasy.

“This is really, great, Lynch, thanks.”

“And you dared to doubt my abilities?  Unlike some people, I know my way around the kitchen,” Ronan said around a mouthful of food.

Adam kicked Ronan in the shin and Ronan kicked him back.

“But, you’re welcome.  It’s really no big deal,” Ronan finished, shrugging, blush rising to his cheeks as he stuffed more food in.

Adam let Ronan have his façade of nonchalance, because by having to put up the façade, he told Adam more than he needed to know.

He took a sip of the wine and grimaced.  Ronan noticed and took a drink of his own.

“Jesus Christ, this tastes like shit.  Either Tad secretly hated you the whole time or that place just blows ass.”

Adam laughed, full and unrestrained as he handed Ronan his glass to pour out.  He let one of his fingers catch on Ronan’s bands as he walked away, reeling him in for one quick second before letting him go.

After eating they settled on the couch, Adam first and Ronan following.  Adam sat at one end, which Ronan took as a prime opportunity to flop down and splay his legs and accompanying feet onto Adam’s lap.  His arms were crossed above his head, eyes closed, content—or at least playing the part of it.  The small tick in his jaw was still present, so Adam knew there was still a slight edge to his demeanor.  It could be that Ronan was still nervous to have Adam in his home, or it could be that Adam had over-stayed his welcome.  Noting the slight pink hue from earlier that still framed the tips of his ears he guessed the former.  He flicked one of Ronan’s feet, which Ronan answered with a swift jab to the thigh, eyes still squeezed shut.

Adam noticed that sitting next to the TV was a record player.  He stood up, pushing Ronan’s feet off of him.  This caused Ronan to pry open one eye and squint at him.

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking at your record player.  You don’t strike me as the type.”

“That’s because I didn’t buy the damn thing.  My brother got it for me on my birthday last year.”

Adam hummed, flipping through the few record cases standing underneath, “What do you have for it?  Warn me if I’m about to find Murder Squash on vinyl.”

Ronan snorted and gave Adam his full attention now, eyes open and focused.

“God, I wish.  All I have is a bunch of classical shit that he bought so he could listen to ‘real music’ when visiting.  Except, he hasn’t been here since he gave it to me so a whole lot of good that did.”

He plucked a record at random to play.  Adam had little musical knowledge to call his own, but he had a significant amount of experience dancing to songs he had never heard wearing offensively expensive suits in offensively grand ballrooms with offensively arrogant people.  Joining their ranks for a night, only in the hopes of tearing them down, didn’t completely make up for it, but it certainly softened the blow.

Soft notes trickled through and Adam walked over to the couch, Ronan’s eyes following him the whole way.  He held out his palm to Ronan, who eyed it without moving.

“Oh, we are not doing this.”

Adam didn’t move.

“Seriously, do I look like a dancer to you?”

“Lynch.”

“Parrish.”

Adam re-extended his hand.

“Ronan.”

“Fuck, fine,” he said, finally giving in and clamping his hand around Adam’s.

A smirk flashed across Adam’s face as he pulled Ronan up from the couch and close to him.  Hands joined high, Adam placed Ronan’s hand on his shoulder and his own he positioned around Ronan’s waist.

“Now what?” Ronan asked, voice gruff, not with malice however, but with unease.  He didn’t like being in this situation in which control had been taken from him—a sentiment Adam had an aching familiarity with.

“Just, step and sway I guess,” Adam responded.

“Where did you learn how to do this anyway?”

Adam shrugged, “Don’t know exactly, just kind of picked it up.”

This wasn’t really a lie.  Adam was never explicitly taught the fine details of how to dance, it was something he was simply expected to know. So, he observed, mimicked, and etched what he saw onto the skin of the man he wore on assignments, slipping it on whenever necessary.  Here he was not stepping into that skin.  Here he was wrenching it up from the soil, brushing off the dirt, shaking it just enough so ‘dancing’ became loose and fell, just in time for Adam to catch it.

Their faces were, inevitably, very close.  Adam’s eyes were, inevitably, drawn to Ronan’s.  They then trailed lower to greet the coils of ink on Ronan’s skin.  Adam could have sworn he saw something within its tendrils wink at him.  Ronan’s eyes darted around Adam’s face like they couldn’t find a proper place to land.

Adam decided to help him out and crowd his space even further, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Ronan’s, so all one could see was the other.  He felt breath fan across his face as Ronan let loose a sigh that seemed as if it had been trapped all day waiting to escape.  Adam dropped their previously laced hands so he could bring his to Ronan’s face, lightly tracing his cheekbones, knife-sharp by sight and feather-soft by touch.  At this, Ronan’s eyes fluttered shut and his breath hitched.  His newly freed hand came up to rest on Adam’s other shoulder, grounding Adam as much, if not more than, himself.  They stopped any swaying that had been attempted earlier.

“Adam Parrish,” Ronan whispered, “can I kiss you?”

Eyes now open, he flicked them up in search of Adam’s.  Within, Adam saw a storm brewing, framed by an open door, an invitation.  He took it, walked through, leaned in, and let the storm soak him.

Adam Parrish had never kissed anyone before.  He had touched his lips to others many times, but never kissed.  Never brushed his lips so softly against another that he couldn’t be sure it had really happened.  Never had someone press theirs back in such a patient and delicate way that it made him ache.  Never cupped someone’s face like it was more important than whatever information they would leak soon after.  No, Adam Parrish had certainly never kissed anyone before.

He pressed back against Ronan’s lips again, but with more force, more intention, and was rewarded with an equal increase in pressure from Ronan.  This particular dance, one laced with closeness and hearts laid bare, was not one Adam knew the steps to.  But, as he told Ronan earlier, he was a quick learner.  He dragged his hand down Ronan’s face to rest on his neck, which caused Ronan to do the same.  Ronan’s hands migrated from gripping his shoulders to cradling his neck, and Adam felt his veins there pulse in response, thrumming with blood, with life.

Ronan pulled back, not enough that their lips were without contact, but enough so that he could cram words in the small space left in between.

“You want to know what my wish was, back at the fountain?”

Adam felt each word pressed against his lips, as if he was a flower Ronan was hoping to put in a book and preserve.  He registered their physicality first; he felt before he heard.  When he did hear, he placed more distance between them, enough so he could tilt his head up and look Ronan in the eyes.

“I thought you already told me your wish, about Gansey’s couch.”

“I may have omitted my second one.”

“Any particular reason you’re deciding to tell me this now?”

Ronan’s eyes left his for a moment, now focused slightly below, on the bridge of his nose and cheeks.

Voice soft, he said, “I wished that I could kiss your stupidly pretty face and all your stupidly pretty freckles.”

“Sap,” Adam said, mouth curled upward.

“Shut the hell up,” Ronan said as his lips ghosted across Adam’s face.  He peppered small kisses across Adam’s nose and cheeks before settling back on his lips.

Adam tightened his hand that was still on Ronan’s waist as Ronan wove his fingers through Adam’s hair, tugging a bit, which elicited a harsh breath from Adam.  He retaliated by slipping his hand underneath Ronan’s shirt.  Ronan’s muscles tensed at the contact and he bit down on Adam’s bottom lip in response.  A sound escaped Adam that he hadn’t heard himself make since high school, and he felt the flash of a smile underneath his own.

Suddenly the thought of Ronan without his shirt on was one that Adam deeply needed to be a reality.  He brought both hands down to tug at the hem of Ronan’s shirt, smoothing his hands along Ronan’s abdomen underneath.

Ronan abruptly broke away from Adam to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it on the couch behind them.  Sweatpants riding low on Ronan’s hips, unguarded, and bare, Adam was struck by a thought: maybe he was religious after all.  Ronan’s muscles were defined, but not loud.  To call him muscular would not be wrong, but to call him bulky would be. 

Adam stepped close and placed his hands flat on Ronan’s chest, Ronan closing his eyes as he did so, craning his neck back.  This exposed more of Ronan’s tattoo, more of the ink immortalized on his skin, spinning a tale Adam couldn’t even begin to unearth.  He could now see that the full scope of the piece was far wider than initially thought.  It snuck its way completely along his shoulders, crept all along the sides of his ribs.

Adam broke the silence, “Can I see it?”

“See what?” Ronan’s voice came out gruff.

“Your tattoo.”

“Fuck,” Ronan breathed.  Instead of answering further, he simply turned around, hands hung limp at his sides.

Adam decided that Ronan Lynch was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in Rome thus far.  The design was confounding, a mass of dark pigment that spanned the entirety of his back, telling a different story each time Adam looked.  The only thing Adam was sure of was the wings that spread from shoulder to shoulder, and his own desire to press his lips to them.  So, he did.

First, he shed his own sweatshirt—it only seemed fair.  Then, he moved his body close to Ronan’s, skin finding skin, the intensity of this enough to garner low moans from both of them.  His mouth found purchase on Ronan’s back, tracing the intricate lines, planting kisses along Ronan’s spine, tongue occasionally lashing out. 

Pleasure burned low in his stomach, and Ronan ground out, “Adam, you’re fucking killing me.  I need to s _ee_ you.”

Adam grazed his hand across the short hairs covering Ronan’s head as he replied, “Then look.”

Ronan turned and immediately grabbed one of Adam’s hands, swiping his lips across the knuckles before gripping Adam’s chin and walking back until he hit the wall, pulling Adam along with him.  He leaned down to give Adam a quick peck, but Adam chased his lips for more, placing his hands on the rise and fall of Ronan’s chest.  He only obliged Adam for a moment before moving to mouth at his neck, which tipped back at the first brush of lips upon it.

Adam dug his nails into Ronan’s skin, making him hiss sharply in what he thought was pain.  He quickly retreated.

“Shit, sorry.”

Ronan lifted his head slightly to look at Adam.

“No, fuck, don’t apologize, I’m fine, more than fine.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

A savage grin was quickly thrown his way before Ronan moved to work at a spot right below Adam’s ear.  Adam’s hips moved of his own accord, and Ronan’s responded in kind.  A low keen escaped his mouth as he wedged his knee in between Ronan’s legs.

“Ronan,” Adam said quietly.

The man in question looked up, “Yes?”

“God, kiss me.”

Their lips meeting was punctuated by a roll of Adam’s hips and a low groan from Ronan.  What they continued to do should not be called kissing, rather their lips attempted to stay in contact as they moved from simply mixing their breaths to mixing the sounds that they began to let out more and more frequently.

Ronan was growing hard against his hip, and he wasn’t alone.  Adam had taken the invitation, he had walked through the door, but he hadn’t jumped.  He hadn’t forgotten how he got here in the first place, how he needed time, time to process just what the hell he had gotten himself into.

He stilled himself, buried his head in Ronan’s shoulder and kissed it, letting his lips rest there for a moment before lifting his head.

“Listen, can we stop for now? I just…this is a lot,” he said, caught off guard by the roughness in his voice.

Ronan stepped back, “Yeah, of course.”

Adam could tell Ronan was searching his eyes for some form of regret—which he wouldn’t find—so he smiled softly and leaned in for one last kiss.

“Tonight, was good.  So, so, good.  Thank you, Ronan.”

“Don’t thank me, thank that fountain.  Maybe it’s not bullshit after all.”

Adam laughed and Ronan caught his hand to knit their fingers together.  His lips were glistening and red, and something shifted in Adam knowing they were like that because of him.

“It’s late, I better go,” Adam said, pulling away and throwing back on his—Ronan’s—sweatshirt.

Ronan nodded, an unasked suggestion in the air.  If Adam were to ask if he could stay the night, Ronan would say yes, and they both knew that, but he wouldn’t ask, and they both knew that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a good time writing this chapter, so I hope you all had an equally enjoyable time reading it! It's probably my favorite chapter thus far, but I also recognize that's probably because it, and the next chapter, are definitely my most self-indulgent. Also, stay tuned for next Friday where that "m" warning finally comes into play and I find out if I'm as bad at writing "actual" smut as I think I am...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise there's a plot in here somewhere, conflict awaits, but first, have some light porn

Adam still spent his days at Excelsior, theorizing with Gansey and ‘bothering’ Ronan—Ronan claimed that’s what Adam did, but judging from the kiss he received each time he arrived, he knew there was no truth behind that statement.  He still spent many mornings at Nino’s, chatting with Noah over a cup of coffee—given to him without payment more times than he’d like to admit.  His nights, though, were now mostly spent at Ronan’s.  Spending the evening in Ronan’s arms soon became just as viable of an option as touring the city, or checking another destination off his list.

Adam returned after that first night, because of course he did.  How could he not, after feeling Ronan’s lips against his?  It was an unspoken routine: after his shift Ronan simply grabbed Adam’s hand and lead him to the BMW, lead Adam to his bed.

They lay wrapped up in one another, noses pressed to the backs of necks, arms settled across waists, hands flattened on stomachs.  In those moments, words fell from Adam’s mouth and told of goals he didn’t know he had, memories he didn’t know still existed, real life forgotten for the refuge that was Ronan’s presence.  He was careful, he knew to steer the conversation back to Ronan whenever Adam felt himself leaving his flights of fancy for the more grounded desires of reality.  He was reminded of the favor Gansey had told him about.  He thought that if he were to wake Glendower, he knew what he would ask.

Some nights he would just indulge in Ronan’s voice.  They faced each other and Adam told Ronan to talk.

“About what?” he said, outlining Adam’s face with his finger.

“Anything.”  His accent slipped out halfway through, but he found himself not caring.  Adam, the Magician, didn’t have an accent, but Adam Parrish did, and here he was Adam Parrish.

Adam leaned forward and kissed Ronan’s eyelids closed as he began to tell a tale that he learned from his father.  Adam didn’t pay attention to a single word of it.  He listened, he let the voice soothe him, but he was more focused on the hand that cupped Ronan’s face rather than the individual words that came out of it.  Adam’s nose replaced his hand as he skimmed Ronan’s jaw, causing his words to stutter for a moment before falling back into their familiar rhythm.

Now Ronan’s words, softer now, fell directly into his ear, the middleman that was space having been eliminated.  Adam let his head fall in the juncture where collarbone met shoulder and breathed Ronan in.  His words ceased, the story had finished.

“Tell me something in Latin,” Adam blurted out.  Ronan’s voice was Adam’s favorite song and he couldn’t bear for it to end so soon, not when he was finally attending a live showing, without the filter of static and bad reception.

“Latin in bed? I knew you’d have that kink.”

Adam kicked Ronan in the shin, trying to wipe away the smirk on Ronan’s face that he couldn’t see, but knew was there.  Ronan retaliated by swinging a leg around Adam and pulling them even closer, muttering what roughly translated to “bastard” in Latin, lips moving against the top of Adam’s head.

Whatever hesitation Ronan had to the idea at first didn’t last because almost immediately words began pouring from his mouth, strung together by the hands that he roamed over Adam’s back as he spoke.  Adam had become far too drowsy to piece together what Ronan was saying completely, but he did manage to pick out something about a forest that also spoke Latin, and a boy who sacrificed himself to it, who became its hands and its eyes.  Ronan’s slow cadence combined with his soothing tone was enough to lull Adam to the brink of sleep.

His eyes closed, and as he felt his breathing begin to even out, they snapped open again, jerked back to consciousness, to the reality he was trying to forget.  Yawning, he raised his head enough to share one last gentle kiss with Ronan before untangling himself from the cocoon of warmth they had created.  This was a scene Adam had all but memorized by now.

Adam would stand, and Ronan would reach out a hand across the bed.  Adam would shake his head, and Ronan would sigh.  The first few times he had tried to fight Adam about it, but Adam refused to go off-script, so in the end, Ronan went on with the show.

...

Adam fell too far into the fantasy sometimes, he had his moments where he said too much, almost slipping.  One Friday night Ronan put on a Mission Impossible movie for them to watch.  All Adam wanted to do was point out its inconsistencies, to correct things, make fun of what Hollywood got wrong. Or, in its small moments of brilliance, laugh at the relatable moment or two that he knew all too well. 

He studied Ronan just as much as the film itself.  The thought occurred to him that Ronan had chosen this movie as some sort of test, that Ronan was in the same situation Adam was, tip-toeing around the fact that one, or both of them, were agents.  It would explain the lack of personality in his apartment, but Gansey made it seem as if Ronan and himself had been friends for years, longer than the amount of time any agent his age would be in one location for.

He knew he had been neglect in his efforts to figure out definitively just how Ronan fit into any of this, but he was too damn happy for once in his life to entertain the thought of not being so anymore.  Still, he did try.  He watched for a sign, any sign, that Ronan had inside knowledge of his profession.  Maybe an accidental name drop here, a slip of a term there, a slight of hand only capable in those who know how to execute it for certain means.  But there was nothing.  But Adam told himself that just meant Ronan was good at hiding it.  But Adam couldn’t bring himself to care.  But Adam continued seeing Ronan anyway.

...

The bell on Excelsior’s door rang as Adam entered.  Gansey turned from the stack he was organizing to push his glasses up and give Adam a fully-dimpled grin.

“Adam! Not that it’s not always a pleasure to see you, but you do know Ronan isn’t set to be here for a couple more hours, right?”

Adam stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve a small piece of paper.

“That’s exactly why I’m here.  Tell him I won’t be in today, but give him this instead,” he said, handing the paper off to Gansey.

He saw Gansey stare at it with wide eyes.

“You can read it, I don’t care.”

The paper was unfolded before Adam had finished his sentence.  What Gansey read, in Adam’s slanted handwriting, was “I may not know how to cook, but I know how to eat,” with an address of a restaurant and a time—6:21pm—signed simply “Parrish.”

Gansey’s smile widened, gaining teeth as he carefully folded it again and said, “Oh, I will be sure to give this to him, don’t you worry.”

He held out his hand and they bumped fists.

This whole ordeal had been Noah’s idea to begin with.  Adam and Ronan were getting something to eat at Nino’s while Ronan was on his lunch break, with Noah watching them with a focus that bordered on uncomfortable.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” Ronan had told him. 

“Perfect, I will, thanks,” Noah responded, pulling out his phone.

“Noah, I was kidding.”

“I wasn’t.  Now, squish together and look cute!”

Adam and Ronan exchanged mirroring looks, but Noah motioned for them to scoot closer and smile.  Ronan slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in tight.  Leaning his head in Ronan’s direction, Adam managed what we hoped was a genuine enough smile.

“Amazing, I’m putting this on Instagram.  Do I follow you guys?”

“Noah, do you really think either of us have an Instagram?  I don’t even have a phone,” Adam said.

“Boring, whatever,” he grumbled.

“Shit, I’m late,” Ronan said, glancing on the clock at the wall, “I better go, see you guys later.”

Ronan caught Adam’s hand that been absentmindedly playing with his leather bands and squeezed it once before removing his arm.

“Hey, uh, I don’t really use my phone but you can text me that picture if you want,” Ronan said to Noah as he left.  Adam realized the smile he had made for the photo had yet to leave his face.

Noah noticed too.  Not even a minute after Ronan left Noah sat himself down across from Adam and said, “God, you guys are so smitten with each other it’s almost sickening.”

Adam almost choked on his coffee, then attempted to deliver a swift kick in the knee, of which Noah dodged.

“Hey! Listen, I’m basically the president of the Ronan and Adam Fan Club, so I’m allowed to say that.  Anyway, you need to be a good boyfriend and take him out somewhere, like on a real date.”

“I’m not his boyfriend.”  That was a title that either had yet to use for the other, and really, he wasn’t sure if Roan was seeing other people on the side or not, although something told him ‘not’ was the correct answer.

Adam didn’t think eyes could roll back as far as Noah’s just did. 

“Boyfriend, lover, friends who just so happen to touch lips often,” Noah waved his hand in the air after every term, “I don’t care.  What I do care about is the romantic wooing that is much needed.  You in?”

Noah looked at him, his pale hair and creamy complexion blending together in the light, eyes crinkled at the corners.  Adam noticed he looked extra smudgy that day, and if asked, he wouldn’t be too sure how to describe what he meant by that.

“I’m in,” Adam sighed.  Noah beamed.

Adam arrived early, and perched himself on a nearby wall.  The restaurant choice was Adam’s contribution.  As a result of his lackluster cooking skills, he had done his fair share of exploring other places to eat in the city.  This, a small pizza place close to his apartment, was one of his favorites.  It also was decently priced, as Adam had every intention of paying for both of their meals. 

While the winery was nice, it also confirmed the fact that Adam and Ronan did much better in casual settings, which this was.  It had a couple more tables—and employees—than Nino’s did, but there still wasn’t many.  Much of the seating they did have was outdoors, pushed up against the shop, bordered above by a string of soft lights.

Adam felt someone nudge his shoe, “Hey.”

Looking up, he saw that Ronan had arrived, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Got your little love letter.  Cute, Parrish.”

Adam reached out to tug on the bands encircling Ronan’s left wrist, barely visible from his jeans.  He let his hand be removed from his pocket and taken by Adam, rubbing a thumb across his palm.

“I can’t take all the credit, Noah did help.”

Understanding dawned on Ronan’s face, “Ah, suddenly this makes a lot more sense.”

“I did choose the restaurant though, I really wanted to come here” Adam protested.  _With you,_ was an unsaid afterthought.  He needed to underscore the fact that regardless of who thought of the idea first, Adam wanted Ronan here.

“Well then, by all means.” 

He dropped Adam’s hand so he could hold it out in front of him, insinuating for Adam to lead the way.

“But first,” Adam began, stepping close enough to knock his forehead against Ronan’s, “I never got to say ‘hey’ back.”

He brought his lips to Ronan’s, who immediately reciprocated.  Adam had meant for it to be a simple kiss, but Ronan kissed him again, one hand coming up to twine in his hair.  A sigh left his mouth, and as he let his tongue dart out, hesitantly testing the seam of Ronan’s lips, he heard a familiar voice.

“AP, is that you?! Color me scandalized!”

That could only be one person, and when he broke from Ronan, he saw that he was correct.  Due to Adam becoming a regular, the staff began to recognize him, and one waiter became particularly taken with him, a certain Henry.  Henry had told Adam the first time he came in that he looked ‘lonely, and a touch pathetic’, and had taken it upon himself to provide Adam with conversation every time he visited whether he wanted it or not.  Adam wouldn’t call them friends, but Henry probably would.

Ronan was eyeing Henry with an intensity that any normal person would shy away from, but Henry merely stuck out his hand in greeting.  Ronan didn’t take it.

“Henry Cheng at your service! You, sir, seem very friendly.”

Receiving no response, he turned to Adam.

“And if it isn’t my favorite customer!  I haven’t seen you in so long…I’ll be honest I thought you forgot about me, it almost broke my heart.”  He feigned a solemn look, head tilted to pout at Adam.

“Hi Henry.  Aren’t you supposed to be, oh I don’t know, working?” 

“Making meaningful connections with our patrons is half the job!” Henry said, “But I do intend to fulfill the other half too, come, come, follow me.”

He brandished two menus from behind his back and started walking.  Ronan eyed Adam, a silent, _what the hell_ , and he just shrugged, grabbing Ronan’s hand to pull him along.  Henry was over-exuberant but harmless.  He reminded him of Noah in this way, and he wagered they would get along quite well if they met.  Henry led them to a table that was slightly more secluded than the ones by the entrance and pulled their chairs out with a flourish.

“Best seats in the house,” he insisted.

Thankfully, he did leave soon after to get their drinks, and Ronan looked expectedly at Adam for an explanation.

“Look, I come here a lot and Henry’s convinced we’re fated to be friends because I keep getting him as my waiter.  You have to ignore what he says sometimes, but he’s mostly fine.”

“He’s fucking annoying is what he is,” Ronan bit out.

Adam hoped Henry wasn’t enough of an irritation to put Ronan in a mood and therefore sour the rest of their evening before it could even start.  His face must have betrayed this worry because Ronan nudged his foot, causing Adam to look up and see Ronan’s face still held warmth.

“It’s alright though, at least I know him and I agree on one thing.”

Adam arched a brow, “And that is?”

“That Adam Parrish is someone worth knowing.”

Adam knew Ronan liked him.  Not in the schoolyard, innocent, _liked him_ way, but liked him in the way of having him over after work when Ronan could have just relaxed by himself, letting Adam fidget with his wristbands when they watched a movie even though he knew it distracted him.  Adam knew Ronan liked him, but it still caught him off guard anytime he faced that fact so explicitly.  He was used to people liking him; his marks liked him enough to divulge the information he had been sent to retrieve, and D liked him because he got the job done.  Besides Blue, he wasn’t used to people liking Adam Parrish for just being Adam Parrish, no strings attached.

He felt his mouth turn up at the corners, “Well, it’s a start.”

Ronan reached for one of Adam’s hands, and he obliged, knowing that Ronan was looking to bring it to his mouth, which he did.  Brushing his lips over Adam’s knuckles had become something of a habit it seemed.  Their hands were paired more often than not, and Ronan almost always consummated the act with the touch of his lips to them.  Adam’s hands told of callouses that never fully healed from his time as a mechanic, overlaid with the false softness achieved through expensive lotions on behalf of D.  Ronan’s hands told of scars that never fully healed from his time as a teenager, faded now, but raised enough for Adam to still run his thumb over.

“Ah,” Henry sighed contently, leaning in to set down their drinks, “I knew I smelled young love in the air tonight.”

“I’ll have a couple slices of the Mozzarella Pizza,” was Ronan’s only response, withdrawing his hand from Adam and folding his menu closed.

Henry quickly grabbed the pen he had been stashing in his outrageously tall hair to scribble down Ronan’s order before turning to Adam.

“I assume you’ll be having your usual, Parrish-boy?”

Adam nodded, and Henry then quite literally twirled away.  Ronan did not watch him go, his eyes were trained on Adam with a concentration that almost made him squirm.

“Did you need something?”

“What’s Parrish-boy’s usual?”  A shit eating grin had spread across his face before he could even begin to say one of Henry’s oh so many iterations of Adam’s name.

“Oh, you know, the classic: tall, dark and handsome, with a sprinkle of ‘could use an attitude adjustment’.”

Ronan looked crestfallen, “Shit, I really thought you were talking about me for a second, until that last part.”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Never do, Parrish, never do.”

Henry returned soon after with their food, and Adam could tell that whatever reservations Ronan had about the restaurant disappeared when he smelled the plate in front of him.  There was a reason Adam came here enough to recognized.

“Enjoy,” Henry said with a wink thrown Adam’s way.

Ronan bit into his slice and moaned.

“Holy fuck, this is good,” he said, although it came out muffled due to his mouth being stuffed with food.

“I told you, just because I can’t make food myself doesn’t mean I have no taste,” he replied.

Ronan shrugged noncommittally and took another bite.

When they were both almost finished eating, Adam looked over his shoulder and saw Henry whip his head back from around the corner.  He couldn’t even begin to guess how long Henry had been spying on them.  There wasn’t much to see, considering their focus was mainly on their food instead of each other.  Still, they did have their feet tangled underneath the table, knees knocked against each other, pushing back and forth every so often.

There was one moment when Ronan held out one of his pieces towards Adam, as an offering.  He went to grab it with his hand but Ronan evaded him and moved it closer to Adam’s mouth.

“Oh, come on, this isn’t happening.  I am a grown man, I don’t need you to feed me.”

“It’s not about what you need, Parrish, it’s about what I want.  Aren’t you supposed to be catering to me this evening?”

“Who said that?”

“I did.  Now, try this.”

Adam acquiesced, bringing his head close and taking a bite from the almost finished piece.  It wasn’t better than his usual—he had spent weeks perfecting his order, nothing could top it—but it was still pretty good.  Ronan also let his fingers travel dangerously close to Adam’s mouth, touching his lips and threatening to go in along with the pizza.  Adam knew this was no accident, and he let it happen anyway.

Henry peered out again to see if he had been caught, and when met with Adam’s glare, he slunk over to their table.

“Creepy bastard,” Ronan accused.

“You’re still stuck in your goth phase and won’t even tell me your name and _I’m_ the creepy bastard?!” Henry retorted, hand to his chest.

Adam forgot that even though he purported earlier to be a grown man, he couldn’t say the same for the other two.

“His name is Ronan, and I forgot to bring his leash, sorry about that.  Any particular reason you were watching us like some sort of voyeur?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, I really am sorry about that,” Henry said, not looking sorry at all, “I’m just shocked!  Lonesome Adam Parrish, always a party of one, is now a party of two!  You both are simply adorable by the way, and I assume Ronan is an addition of the boyfriend variety, yes?”

Adam and Ronan weren’t anything, technically speaking.  They hadn’t really given a label to their relationship, what they were.  The way in which their lives melded together had been seamless, it didn’t leave room for discussions of what exactly they’d been doing, or for questions, it simply was.  It felt like a dream, and Adam was worried that stopping to define it would wake him up. 

The question Henry had posed seemed to surprise Adam and Ronan both, but not as much as Adam surprised himself by swiftly answering, “Yes, he is” and by how that answer provided him with a sense of relief rather than unease.  He looked to Ronan, and was met by a calm sea and a soft smile, so he assumed his response was okay, but Ronan didn’t care to elaborate.

“That’s just splendid! Personally, I can’t figure out what you see in the guy, but to each their own,” Henry said, setting down their bill.

Before Ronan could even consider paying, Adam snatched the check up and dug out his wallet.  He slapped a bill on the table, leaving the change as Henry’s tip, and pushed out his chair.  Ronan echoed him, still not giving a response after Adam had publicly declared them a packaged good, an item.  As they exited, Adam wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go: his apartment, or Ronan’s.  Usually by now Ronan would have bumped their shoulders together, or ran a finger along his wrist, or done _something_.  Touch was how Ronan communicated, and him keeping his distance could mean any number of things, none of which Adam could parse out.

“You coming? I’m parked around the corner,” Ronan said.

That, at least, seemed promising.

The car ride back was quiet on their part, Ronan cranked up his horrible music and Adam didn’t bother to protest.  Chainsaw greeted them when they entered, jumping on Adam’s shoulder and curling into him.  She had developed a certain fondness for Adam since their first meeting, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t return her affection.  Ronan stepped through the doorway into his bedroom.  Adam followed to see Ronan already sprawled out across the bed, arms and legs spread out, gaze trained towards the ceiling.

“So, we’re boyfriends now, huh?” Ronan asked, sliding his eyes over to Adam, who was rubbing Chainsaw’s head.

Adam opened his mouth, closed it.  Chainsaw sensed his shoulders tensing up, and took that as her cue to fly off through the open window.  “Boyfriends” felt like such a juvenile term, something he would say in high school, but he didn’t know what else to call them.  What they had was comfort, stability, and happiness, things Adam had experienced before, just not all at once.

He sank into the bed, scooting back until he hit the headboard.  Ronan sat up so they were shoulder to shoulder, and not waiting any longer for Adam to respond, he said, “Look, I don’t know about you, but you have to know you’re it for me, Parrish.  Boyfriend, partner, significant other, whatever the fuck you want to call it, I’m yours.  You still looking for the price of that book?  Because I can tell you, whatever it was, you paid those dues a long, long time ago, and I’m sold.”

Ronan had looked away from him halfway through his speech, ears reddening, however the expression of his face didn’t change.  His jaw was set, and his words didn’t falter, rather they gained clarity the more he spoke. This was Ronan fierce and passionate, every word dripping with truth. 

Adam couldn’t lie to Ronan, couldn’t tell him that he didn’t want to be with him, that he wasn’t falling for Ronan so hard it scared him.  But he could lie to himself, he could tell himself an endless string of aphorisms, that “love will conquer all”, that he could quit his job anytime he wanted without consequence, that D couldn’t simply call him tomorrow, rip him out of Rome without a forwarding address in sight, make him leave without a trace.  Adam could feed himself that lie as easily as Ronan fed him the pizza from earlier.

His fingers itched with the need to place themselves on Ronan’s skin, the air he was breathing wasn’t sufficient unless he was sharing it with Ronan.  He had begun to gnaw on his wristbands, so Adam gently pried his hand away from his mouth so Adam could replace it with his own, turning his body to kiss Ronan deeply, splaying his finger out across Ronan’s cheek.

He felt teeth reveal themselves underneath as Ronan smiled and pulled away.  Chuckling, he asked, “I take it that’s your way of saying we’re on the same page?”

Adam nodded, forehead against forehead, as he breathed, “God, Ronan, yes.”

Ronan leaned in to kiss Adam again, fisting his hands in Adam’s tangled mess of hair, similar to how Adam curled his into Ronan’s black t-shirt.  Adam felt Ronan’s mouth open against his, and their tongues met, messy and perfect.  Ronan was clumsy—Adam had the realization that he might be the only person Ronan had ever kissed—but Adam didn’t mind.  He curled his tongue around Ronan’s until his jaw ached.

Ronan moved to graze his teeth over Adam’s earlobe, whispering “Adam Parrish, you strange and beautiful creature” before taking it into his mouth.  Adam gasped and arched his neck, heart pounding, a constant reminder that he was here, this was happening, and it was real.

He pushed Ronan away so he could swing his legs over him, straddling Ronan’s lap and kissing along his jaw.  It was slightly stubbled, and Adam wondered if Ronan was attempting to grow it out, probably only to spite Gansey.  Ronan breathed a soft sigh as he grabbed Adam’s face and pulled him close, rubbing over Adam’s freckles with his thumb.  He leaned in to softly kiss Adam, who chased his lips for more when he attempted to pull away.

Ronan laughed, “Eager, Parrish?”

Adam tightened his legs around Ronan, and tilted his hips down, moving them slightly.  The smile on Ronan’s face wavered as he shut his eyes and breathed harshly.

“Fuck, alright then, I can work with eager,” he said, eyes back open and visibly dilated.

He hitched up Adam’s shirt, pressing his hands to Adam’s stomach as he lifted his hips, drawing out a soft sound of pleasure from Adam.  He rolled his hips and dug his hands into Ronan’s shoulders, already feeling his jeans become tight.  Ronan dropped his head against Adam’s chest as they moved against each other, panting heavily as the friction increased.

He felt Ronan’s hands skim down his chest and toy with the waistband of his jeans, a finger slipping underneath.  They had never gone any farther than this before.  Either it would get too late, or one of them would ask to stop.  Time seemed to be at a standstill tonight, and the only questions being asked were ones to keep going.

Adam quickly rolled off of Ronan to throw his pants off, reaching over to undo Ronan’s and slide them off as well.  He went to settle back into Ronan’s lap when a hand to his chest stopped him.

“I want to touch you,” Ronan said.

“You’re touching me right now,” Adam responded.

“Christ, Parrish, you’re going to make me break out into some porno dialogue,” Ronan said, shaking his head.  He repeated his earlier request, “I want to _touch_ you.”

Adam’s eyes widened and his pulse quickened, “Oh, oh, right.”

Now Ronan seemed unsure of himself, “Is that…okay?  We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Adam turned his head, sliding a hand up Ronan’s arm and leaning in to kiss his shoulder, saying “Ronan. I want to.”

“Okay, then get the fuck over here,” Ronan said, some of his bravado re-gained.

He spread his legs and bent his knees slightly, motioning for Adam to sit in the space between.  Ronan’s hands settled underneath Adam’s shirt around his waist as he situated himself, and Ronan’s mouth to the nape of his neck.  He placed one hand to Ronan’s thigh, squeezing while one of Ronan’s moved to loosely grasp his neck as the other swept over his ribs.  The feel of being so completely within Ronan’s touch was exquisite, and he ran his other hand over Ronan’s shaved head, making him hum against his neck.

When Adam turned his head to capture Ronan’s lips with his own, he felt Ronan reach into his briefs and take him in his hand.  He made soft noise into Ronan’s mouth, whose hand tightened at the sound.  Adam’s hips canted up as Ronan slowly moved his hand along him.  Try as he may—and he had tried—Adam’s imaginations could not have prepared him for the reality that was this.  Ronan’s fingers were rough, but his strokes gentle, almost agonizingly so. 

“God, could you be going any slower?”

Ronan’s smile was that of the devil, “Is that a challenge?”

The ministrations of his hand ceased, and Adam moved his hips forward, missing the sensation.

“Ronan,” he said, trying his hardest not to whine.

He was about to reach down with his own hand when Ronan suddenly ran his thumb over the tip, the sensitivity making him jump and let out an embarrassingly loud noise.  However, hearing Ronan’s low groan in return made him reconsider his efforts to muffle the sound.  His hand began moving at a much quicker pace than before, and Adam could feel Ronan rocking against him from behind, the movements of his hips lined up with the movements of his hand.

Adam tried moving back onto Ronan instead of thrusting into his hand for a moment. As back met front he felt Ronan straining hard against his briefs, and bring his head down against the back of Adam’s neck, placing open mouthed kisses on the warm skin there.

“Fuck” he hissed, hand stuttering for a second before picking back up.

Adam let his hand that was still resting on Ronan’s neck travel to his face.  He blindly smoothed over the furrows on the spot between his eyebrows, ran his fingers down the bridge of his nose, ending with tracing the border of his lips.  Lips that were slick with saliva and slightly open, lips that accepted Adam’s two fingers when prodded, easily slipping inside.  Adam had seen the way Ronan worshipped his hands, and he wasn’t opposed to cashing in on that knowledge.

His tongue twirled around Adam’s fingers and he sucked slightly, making Adam buck in his grip.  Each time Ronan moaned around Adam’s fingers he lost a part of the small reserve he had left.  His hips rocked of their own accord as Ronan twisted his hand around Adam, mouth parted, breathy sighs escaping onto Ronan’s cheek that was pressed against his own.

Ronan must have been able to tell that he couldn’t go for much longer, because he slowed his strokes and removed his hand from Adam’s waist, tapping his wrist and pushing his tongue against Adam’s fingers.  He removed them, only to have a hand wrapped around his chin, bringing him face to face with Ronan.

He kissed Adam’s nose quickly before explaining, “Front row tickets to what Adam Parrish looks like when he comes is something I just can’t pass up.”

Adam tried to roll his eyes, but before he could, Ronan’s hand continued its movements, which caused the eye roll to turn into his eyes fluttering shut.

“How can one thing—” he gasped as Ronan squeezed at the base before continuing onto the upstroke, “feel so good.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Ronan replied, each statement punctuated by a particularly rough jerk of the hand, branded into Adam’s memory by the touch of his lips.

Adam felt himself tense.  Ronan did too, and he whispered, “Adam, Adam, Adam Parrish” against his open mouth, tipping Adam over the edge, spilling into Ronan’s hand with a low moan, arching his back off of Ronan’s chest.  Ronan let his hand fall from Adam’s face so he could throw his head back against Ronan’s shoulder, chest heaving.  He felt a drop of sweat roll down his face as Ronan removed his hand, wiping the mess onto Adam’s shirt.

“That’s disgusting,” Adam said.

“I’m not the one that came all over their shirt in the first place.  You dirty bastard,” Ronan responded.  Adam could tell he was trying to make a joke out of it, but his voice was tight.

He gave Ronan a sloppy kiss before completely turning around to face him, and being met with the fact that Ronan was straining, painfully hard, in his briefs.

“Oh, shit, should I—I mean, do you want me to,” he trailed off, arms already extended towards him.

“Nah, don’t worry, this won’t take long, you’ve already done more than enough,” Ronan said, shoving his own hand inside and freeing himself.

His eyes fell closed as he began to pump himself, teeth peeking out as he bit down on his lip in an attempt to silence any noises. Adam reached forward, releasing Ronan’s lip from its constraints.

“Stop that, front row tickets to how Ronan Lynch sounds when he comes is something I just can’t pass up,” he said, mimicking Ronan’s words from earlier.  In truth, he was just as interested in how Ronan looked as how he sounded when he fell apart, and he was greedy, so if he could have both, then he wanted both.

“Fuck,” Ronan breathed out heavily, “you.”

“Next time,” Adam replied, bringing his forehead to Ronan’s, feeling the puffs of air as Ronan exhaled harshly.

With Ronan’s eyes closed, Adam was able to see the way his dark eyelashes—lusher and fuller than they had any right to be—fanned out across his cheeks, and the ever-so-rare relaxed set of his jaw as his mouth hung open, contrasted with the tension concentrated at his brows.  Adam cupped Ronan’s cheeks and touched their lips together, murmuring the word “known” into the space they shared.  Ronan came with a hoarse noise, a fierce movement of lips against Adam’s, an uncoiling of tension bound so tight Adam thought it would break.

He wiped his hand again on Adam’s shirt.

“Ronan!”

“Oh, what a shame, now it’s really gross.  Guess you’re just going to have to take it off,” Ronan said faux innocently as he moved to lie down.

“You’re insufferable,” Adam complained, already throwing his shirt off onto the floor.

Afterwards they curled around each other in Ronan’s bed, plastered with sweat, making music of the silence.  Adam’s head lay cushioned on Ronan’s chest, held in place by one arm across his midsection while the other carded through his hair.  His eyes drooped close and his breathing began to even out.

Ronan tossed one word into the air, “Stay.”

Adam caught it, pocketed it, and threw out one of his own, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus completes my first attempt at writing actual smut, so there's that lol! I hope you all enjoyed and thank you all for reading and for all the wonderful comments, I seriously look forward to reading them so much! Like I said, we're officially past the halfway point now, so next chapter ~things~ start happening...see you then!


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was spent by way of soft light filtering through the window, framing Ronan’s face as Adam let his hungry eyes get their fill.  He lightly traced a finger over Ronan’s eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, his lips.  During the night they had both moved around, so when Adam opened his eyes the following morning, he found himself facing Ronan.

As Adam’s finger began its journey back up Ronan’s face, wrinkles erupted and he scrunched his nose.

“Fucking tickles, Parrish.”

Adam flicked his nose, then before Ronan could retort again, he pressed a kiss to his lips.  He let Ronan kiss him once in return before pulling away, commenting “I can only handle your morning breath for so long.”

“Morning breath? What about the rancid B.O. you’re rocking?”

Adam sniffed himself—so maybe Ronan had a point, he didn’t exactly smell great.  A lopsided smile appeared on Ronan’s face as he reached forward to brush his fingers through Adam’s hair.

“You slumming along with me to Excelsior today?”

“Sure, I’ve been meaning to ask Gansey if there’re any updates on Glendower.”

Ronan rolled, flopped onto his stomach.

“Thank God he has you to talk about that shit with now, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could pretend to care.”

Adam lifted his head and placed it on Ronan’s back.  It was unnaturally warm, Ronan’s body temperature always seemed to run slightly above normal.

“Drop the act, I know you care about Gansey.”

In saying this, Adam realized that this was a shared notion.  Gansey was more than just entertainment while waiting for Ronan to get off work, he had become ingrained in Adam’s life too, and thinking about that life continuing without Gansey seemed just as wrong as life continuing without Ronan.

“I care about Gansey, but I don’t care about his crusty old king boyfriend.”

As soon as they arrived, Adam told Gansey what Ronan had called his beloved monarch, earning him both the reward of seeing a bothered Gansey and the scathing look Ronan threw him. “Ronan! He is not ‘crusty’, he’s dead.  I don’t think you’re going to look very fresh in a couple centuries either,” Gansey chastised. 

“Yeah, yeah.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two losers alone so I can go, you know, do my job,” Ronan said, stalking away to the front of the store.

Gansey laughed good naturedly as he delved into a very long tangent to Adam concerning all the new theories that he had developed since they last talked.  Most of them were entirely too fanciful to be possible, which Adam told him, but it didn’t seem to faze Gansey in the slightest.  He simply nodded, accepted the criticisms, and jotted down a couple notes in his journal before turning away when he noticed a customer looking curiously at a collection of Arthurian legends.

Sensing Gansey’s shift in focus, Adam wandered off, somehow finding a shelf he hadn’t managed to peruse before.  For being a generally small store, the number of shelves and books housed at Excelsior never failed to amaze him.  He scanned the shelf, clutching the sleeves of his sweatshirt, idly picking at the loose threads hanging there.  Because Adam hadn’t brought a change of clothes to Ronan’s apartment, he had swiped one of Ronan’s simple black crewnecks.  Breathing in, he smelled spice, sweat, and a hint of mist.  Ronan might not be getting it back.

“Hi!” a voice sounded to his right.

He glanced down, and spotted an unfamiliar boy smiling up at him, face framed by a bundle of golden curls.  There was nobody else around, so he must have been talking to Adam, although he couldn’t begin to guess why.

“Uh, hi there.”

“What book are you looking at?” he asked, standing up to peer at the book in Adam’s hand.  The boy was young, probably not out of high school yet, the cherubic quality about him was all too unsoiled.

“Oh, it’s really nothing, I’m just killing time more than anything.”

“Cool!”

He said nothing more, but followed Adam when he exited the aisle.  Adam wasn’t used to being trailed so obviously, yet with no motive in sight.  What did this kid want from him? 

Ronan poked his head around the corner.  He walked over to Adam’s newly acquired shadow and lightly grabbed him by the arm.

“God, Matthew, stop bothering Parrish.”

He looked up to Adam, continuing, “Adam Parrish, meet Matthew Lynch, my little brother.”

Seeing the two Lynch’s side by side, he saw at once nothing but similarity and nothing but dissonance.  Where Matthew was light, Ronan was dark.  Where Matthew was smiling broadly, Ronan was scowling thinly.  Where Matthew was round, Ronan was sharp.  Yet, they both possessed an intensity to their presence that demanded your attention.  They both had their attention fixed on Adam, and their focus made Adam feel like he was the only person on the planet. 

He opened his mouth to officially introduce himself, but Matthew interrupted him.

“Ha! I knew you were Adam!  You _do_ have nice eyes.  Was I really bothering you?”

Matthew was instantly loveable, Adam couldn’t imagine ever having an ill thought about him.

“No, don’t worry, you’re fine.”

Ronan let go of Matthew’s arm and moved closer to Adam, leaning against him so that their sides pressed together.

“He insisted on spending the day with me today, even though I told him I had to work for most of it,” he said, shaking his head at Matthew, but the tender look on his face was apparent.

“Well, I don’t mind if he tags along with me, although I can’t promise how interesting it’ll be,” Adam said.

Matthew lit up, “Yes!”

Ronan hooked a finger through Adam’s belt loop, leaning in to whisper in his ear, close enough that every word was skin against skin, “Don’t let him steal my hard-earned spot of your favorite Lynch.”

Ronan had stopped speaking, but he hadn’t pulled away, letting his lips rest on the shell of Adam’s ear.  He noticed Matthew watching them with increasing interest, so he pushed Ronan away.  The bell at the cash register rang, causing Ronan to ruffle Matthew’s hair and jog back to the front.

“So,” Adam began at the same time as Matthew said, “Ronan said you’re freakishly smart.”

Adam knew, theoretically, that Ronan could have spoken about him to his brother.  Having that knowledge go from a theory to a reality was something that Adam wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to process.  That made their relationship into something tangible, something that was now a part of the schema someone else had of them.  Adam Parrish had been an army of one for so long that it felt odd to be known as Adam _and_ Ronan, as a unit. 

Gansey knew, but it also was never told to him in any explicit terms.  Ronan had leaned into Adam’s space and taken his hand one too many times for it to be inconspicuous anymore, and one day Gansey had simply given them a look and smiled to himself.

“Oh really?  What else has Ronan said about me?” Adam asked.

Matthew looked exasperated when he replied, “More like what _hasn’t_ he said about you?  For a while I didn’t believe you were even real because I’ve never heard Ronan say this many nice things about, like, anyone before.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.  I hope the real thing isn’t too disappointing after all you’ve heard.”

Matthew beamed and laid a warm hand on Adam’s shoulder.

“Nah, you’re great!  We’re pals already, buddies even.”

Adam decided that all of the Lynch family’s good disposition must have skipped Ronan and gone directly to Matthew.  He had never felt so instantly—but genuinely—liked before.

Matthew plucked out a book on Roman history, one that Adam happened to have read on the plane here.  That plane ride now seemed like an eternity ago, even though in actuality it had just been a couple months since.

“Oh, that one’s pretty good.  It doesn’t feel like you’re reading a textbook, but all the information is still really interesting.  Did you know that the life expectancy of Ancient Rome was only 20 to 30 years?”  Adam told him.

Cocking his head, Matthew considered Adam.

“No, no I didn’t.  What else do you know?”

“About what?”

“About,” Matthew began, stepping by Adam to grab a different book and read off the title, “tarot card reading?”

Adam almost laughed out loud right there.  He didn’t know much about Blue’s personal life, which was to be expected, but what he did know was that this was Blue’s family trade: tarot, psychic readings, and what one might even call magic.  For his birthday one year, even though he insisted on no gifts, Blue insisted otherwise and gave him his very own tarot card deck.  When he chose The Magician as his first card, Blue swore that it was more than coincidence, considering his own code name.  Adam claimed he wasn’t fully convinced, but he brought his deck with him to each location nonetheless.

He rattled off a couple of interesting things he’d picked up from Blue to Matthew, whose eyes widened with admiration.  This game continued, with Matthew grabbing books off shelves at random, and Adam humoring him by providing some kernel of knowledge about the book’s subject, some much more trivial than others.

“You really are smart! What are you, a professor, or something?”

“Uh, no,” Adam’s speech stumbled, “but I guess you could say I work in information systems.”

Matthew deflated a bit, “Oh. That sounds boring.  Anyway, I’m hungry.”

Adam pulled out his wallet and gave Matthew some money, telling him to go grab them something from Nino’s next door.  He bounded off, but Adam could have sworn he was actually just skipping.

Ronan was chewing on his wrist when Adam approached, making the already grimy bands even grimier, not that Ronan cared.  His eyes flicked up when Adam knocked his knuckles twice against the counter, a grin burgeoning on his face.

“Matthew seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Adam shrugged, feigning nonchalance although he had taken a liking to Matthew as well.  Ronan hopped up on the counter—definitely something Gansey would not want him doing, Adam noted—and brought his face perilously close to Adam’s.

“Must be a Lynch thing,” Adam said.

Adam closed the distance between them, and Ronan responded in kind.  They exchanged chaste kisses until a voice sounded from behind them.

“Gross.”

They pulled back to find Matthew staring at them, a coffee and a bag from Nino’s in his hands.

“You guys must be really great friends,” he commented.

Adam grabbed the coffee as Ronan grabbed the bag, pulling a bagel out and stuffing it into his mouth so he didn’t have to answer.

“Hey! That was for Adam!” Matthew yelled, swatting Ronan on the arm.

“Sorry,” Ronan mumbled, very obviously not sorry at all, and continued to eat the bagel.

Matthew kicked one of Ronan’s feet that was swinging from where he was perched on the counter.  Ronan kicked him back and Matthew shot out a “Fuck you”, to which Ronan responded, “Don’t fucking swear, Matthew.”

Perhaps there wasn’t as much separating these Lynch’s as an outsider might think.

...

They were walking home from dinner when it happened.  Ronan had been showing Adam a shortcut to get back to his apartment using the backroads; it was a nice enough evening that the usual path was crammed with slow, gawking tourists.  Tourists: a group that Adam didn’t consider himself a part of anymore.  The roads had become familiar, the sights commonplace, the company comforting.

Ronan had an arm hooked around Adam, who was wearing his jean jacket, recently purchased from a local vintage shop.  Noah had taken him there, and convinced him that he couldn’t leave the store without it.  A small Coca-Cola pin sat on the left pocket, bought for him by Ronan, reminiscent of the old t-shirt he was wearing when they first met.  Ronan didn’t make this explicit reference, simply tossed it to him one day, saying “Reminded me of you,” but Adam knew.

Adam had just reached up to take the hand hanging from his shoulder when he felt fingers reach into his back pocket, where he had stuffed his wallet.  Ronan spun around, snarling, “What the fuck?” as Adam surveyed the scene in front of them.

A group of three men surrounded them, Adam’s wallet in the hand of one.  Another was already reaching for Ronan, eyes locked onto the BMW’s keys he had clipped to his belt loop.  Ronan exploded in violence, throwing a punch to the man holding Adam’s wallet, who staggered back a step but not before the other two could close in.  Ronan’s moves were imprecise and impulsive, Adam could tell he had experience in boxing by the way he threw his punches, and that for Ronan fighting wasn’t an art, it was simply a means to an end.

Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t something Adam partook in often, but it also wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with in the slightest.  Before becoming an active duty agent, he had been required to undergo rigorous training regarding how to fight, and how to fight well.  Adam and Blue had sparred off against each other more times than he could count, and despite Blue’s small stature, she excelled.  Adam was fine at it, and he knew that, however he only used physical violence as an absolute last resort.  He learned the ways in which to incapacitate a target in the quickest, and most efficient way possible.  It wasn’t something he enjoyed, but rather something he learned to live with.

Ronan had the man with Adam’s wallet down, who was clutching his face and spitting blood on the ground, but Adam could see that this fight was not one he was going to win on his own.  As one of them staggered towards Ronan, attempting to catch him off guard while his attention was on someone else, Adam sprang into action. 

His mind cleared, and his focus sharpened, slipping into a mode he knew well, but hadn’t visited in a while.  His body went through the motions without much input from his conscious self, coming up behind one of them and swiftly putting them in a sleeper hold.  Their body crumpled beneath him, and Adam easily broke the hold the other man had on Ronan.  He attempted to catch Adam’s jaw in a punch, but Adam easily blocked it, throwing back one of his own, hearing the man’s nose crunch as fist met face, kneeing him in the stomach and ordering in a low, stern, voice, “Go.”  He and the other man hefted their currently unconscious partner off the ground, scrambling off without so much as a word. 

Adam stared at Ronan, who had a split lip, and bruised knuckles, but otherwise seemed to be fine.  Adam was breathing heavily, but he knew that there wasn’t a mark on him.  He also knew that there should be.  He was supposed to be Adam Parrish here, not the Magician.

“Are you hurt?” Adam asked.

“Nah, I’m fine, just a couple scratches, but I’m more interested in you.  What the hell, Parrish?  Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Adam shifted on his feet, deciding how he wanted to spin this.

He settled on, “Oh, I just took a couple self-defense classes a while ago so I could get a grasp on some basic tactics.”

Ronan’s lip had started to bleed again, a bead of red threatening to spill down his chin.  Adam reached up to touch his face, but he scoffed and pushed Adam’s hand away.

“What you did was a little above what I’d call ‘basic tactics’.”  Ronan’s eyes were hard.

Adam said nothing back.  Ronan wasn’t able to fend them off with any amount of precision similar to how Adam had.  There was an obvious lack of trained ability there, a lack that shouldn’t be there, a lack that made Adam wonder if Ronan really was just someone he had met by chance at a bookstore, with a voice that only resembled his own fantastical construction of the life he wished he could be living.

His wallet lay on the ground beneath them.  He picked it up and put it back in his pocket, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking and his heart was thrashing and his mind was spinning.  Failing to ignore how he had completely and utterly slipped.

“Do you want a ride back to your place?”

This wasn’t the question Ronan was actually asking.  _Do you want to finally show me where you live?_ was closer to the truth.  Adam still had yet to let Ronan know anything about where his own apartment was.  What began as simple caution had become a compartmentalization of his own identity.  At his apartment, he was the Magician, and at Ronan’s, he was Adam Parrish.  To mix those two seemed inconceivable, now more than ever.

“No, I’m good,” he said.

Ronan’s eyes did not soften as he turned around and left.

...

**RONAN POV**

Ronan Lynch knew when he was being lied to, especially by those he cared about, and he had come to care a hell of a lot about Adam Parrish.  Illusive and elegant Adam Parrish, who lurked around Excelsior but never said a word until Ronan did first, who didn’t expect anything from Ronan but his presence, who let Ronan in, until he didn’t.  After everything, after practically fucking moving into Ronan’s place, he still wouldn’t let Ronan know where he moved out of, and he evaded anything that so much as leaned on his life outside of Rome.

Ronan understood secrecy, he understood guardedness.  There were things that still made him throw up his walls, even around Gansey and Noah.  The more time he spent with Adam however, the more he realized that there was no use in hiding anything from him, because he understood, and even if he didn’t, he let Ronan process what he needed to process regardless.  He didn’t try and fix him and his problems like Gansey, he knew when Ronan had to work through things himself.  Ronan felt as if by now the sentiment was shared, so he could not comprehend why Adam wouldn’t just tell him what the hell was going on.

He wasn’t stupid, he knew when Adam dodged a question, or twisted a conversation away from a topic he didn’t want to contribute to.  He was good—Ronan doubted anybody else noticed—but Ronan had become well-versed in the art of noticing Adam Parrish.  His current working theory was that Adam was on the run from some crime, which frankly, wouldn’t bother Ronan considering the law wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of Ronan Lynch anyway.  But he was sick of wondering, and after tonight, he needed some damn answers, so he did the thing he hated more than anything in the world: he called Declan.

“Hello? Ronan?  Is everything okay?” A call to Declan wasn’t usually made just to chat, it usually wasn’t made at all.

“I’m fine.  I need access to your creepy-ass files.”

Declan had a scary amount of information on a scary amount of people.  Ronan didn’t know the exact details of what he did, because he wasn’t allowed to “for his own protection”, but he knew enough to get the gist of it.  Declan got to boss around a bunch of his own little 007-puppets; he said jump and they said how high, he said go here and they said I’m already on the plane.  Ronan thought it must be some sort of hell to have to answer to Declan Lynch, he would know.

Declan sighed, “Why?  Ronan, I can’t just let you look through those whenever you want, they’re incredibly classified.”

“I’ll do another set of those stupid numbers.”

No answer.

“Two sets.”

“Fine.  You can let yourself in, I’m leaving soon.”

As much as Declan acted like Ronan poisoned every space he entered, he still gave Ronan a key the day he moved to Rome, and had never once asked for it back.  And as much as Ronan acted like Declan was a movie villain come to life, he still helped him out with small things, and had never once not complained while doing it.  Ronan’s generosity only went so far.

Becoming a disembodied voice on an ancient radio station, reading off random combinations of numbers, and then adding unsettling music afterwards was one of the things Ronan helped with.  He wasn’t entirely sure what they meant, and Declan wouldn’t tell him, but he’d been doing it ever since he arrived.  Declan claimed it was better for someone who wasn’t directly involved to read them off, so that the receiver didn’t recognize the voice of another agent, and to keep the instructions as removed as possible. 

Ronan didn’t care, he never thought much of it.  It was what allowed Declan to get off his ass about running around Rome with no “future goals”—a lot of what Declan said to Ronan got remembered in mocking quotes.  If doing another round of that was what it took to figure out what bank Adam robbed to be able to come here, then that’s what mattered.

He arrived at Declan’s office within a half hour and saw that he had left the lights on for Ronan, or maybe he just forgot to turn them off.  Either was likely, depending on his mood.  It wasn’t a well adorned space by any means, but it was efficient and everything was clearly where it needed to be to function at its best.  Ronan hated it.

A computer with much too large of a screen sat idly on Declan’s main desk.  Ronan pulled out an office chair and sank into it as he shook the mouse awake.  He opened up the program, entering in his access key: “Greywaren”.  He should be more nervous, he knew, but a part of him was still apprehensive as to if he should be doing this at all.  Roaming Declan’s files was a last resort, and he had forgotten it was even an option for a long time, until tonight, but he needed to know.  Ronan had lived with secrets for too long.

The search bar, empty, blinked at him.  “Adam Parrish”.  Enter.  Unsurprisingly, he was met with about a hundred or so results.  He had expected this, it wasn’t like Adam had the most unique name.  However, there was a result, right at the top, that had been manually starred by Declan, and required its own passcode to access.  Suddenly Ronan’s interest was very piqued.  On a whim, he guessed the name of Adam’s first car, something he’d shared with Ronan over dinner one night: “The Hondayota”.  He clicked.  He was in.

Dusty hair, unevenly cut but soft to the touch.  Blue eyes that, with a crinkle, revealed if his smile was genuine or not.  Lips that turned up at the sound of a bad joke, and despite almost always being chapped, felt soft under Ronan’s own.  Face that on a good day could be described as fine-boned, or perhaps when he wasn’t getting enough sleep, gaunt.  Name that said, “Adam Parrish”.  Name that also said, “Code Name: Magician”.

Underneath was a tab entitled “Completed Missions” that contained an extensive list of names, all ending with one simple word: “Cleared”.  Ronan scrolled through, numb.  Adam appeared to be damn good, maybe even the best Declan had.  He closed his eyes.

“Jesus shit Mary _fuck,_ ” he spat into the empty room.

Of fucking course this had to end with Adam being one of Declan’s playthings.  The pieces slotted into place, and Ronan felt like an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.  It explained the evasiveness, the way Adam seemed to be simultaneously watching everything around them, why he was able to take down their attackers tonight with such ease.  Did he _live_ with Declan?  Was that why he would never let Ronan see his place?  Christ.

Something that, now more than ever, was still left unanswered was the question of why the hell Adam was in Rome, and how did he just coincidentally happen to step into Excelsior.  Ronan didn’t believe in coincidences.  He let himself savor one shred of optimism, and believe for a second that maybe Declan didn’t even know Adam was in Rome, that he had come here completely of his own accord.

Two things quickly smoldered the flames on that hope:

“Current Location: Rome, Italy”

“Current Mission Status: Active”

Ronan spun around and punched the wall behind him.  It left a mark—on both him and the wall. He replayed a conversation he had had with Declan a couple months before he had met Adam.  Ronan hadn’t been in the best place mentally, and had made some decisions that also weren’t the best.  He had let some loser get under his skin and talk him into doing some stupid shit.  Stupid shit that made its way back to Declan, who was none too pleased. 

Ronan knew he’d fucked up, he didn’t need Declan to tell him too.  But he did, because telling Ronan how he fucked up was what Declan was best at.  He told Ronan how this was the last straw, how he never should have given Ronan this much freedom, how Ronan should be grateful he wasn’t putting him under house arrest from now on.  After that, Ronan did change, he wasn’t the immature and misguided boy that he once was.  Obviously, Declan didn’t see that, because here they were, with Declan hiring one of his own to get close to Ronan in order to keep tabs on him. 

His head spun and his blood boiled, but where the fire was directed, he wasn’t sure.  He knew he should be furious at Adam for the deception, but the heartache he felt drowned out most of that.  Every interaction they had sped through his mind, now put through a filter, screened for what was real and what was at Declan’s behest.  Ronan couldn’t possibly see how they did much that was anything Declan would care about.  One day, Adam had slept for almost the entire time they were together on Ronan’s couch.  He wasn’t even conscious to observe any of what Ronan did during that time, which seemed like the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing. 

What was there to gain from all the nights Adam spent tracing the lines of Ronan’s tattoo, pestering him to say more useless things in his favorite useless language?  Why did it take Ronan so long to get Adam to stay the night, when while Ronan slept would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak around and glean information?  Did Declan make Adam kiss him, sleep with him, love him?

Maybe that was the goal.  Not to catch Ronan doing anything unsightly, but to stop him before he could get the opportunity.  Ronan Lynch was not a fool, until he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!! I can't believe we're almost finished here...I will admit that the "angst" (is this really even that angsty? it feels pretty tame by some comparisons) is not that evenly distributed since it's really only kicking into gear now, but it pains me to pain them and I had way too much fun writing atmosphere vs. heavy plot, so just bear with me! Thank you all so much for reading and (hopefully enjoying), reading your comments is always the highlight of my day and the thing I look forward to the most! <3


	6. Chapter 6

Adam was officially in too deep, this he knew.  Ronan had been distant recently, and instead of seeing it as a solution to how he could cut ties and force himself out of this dreamscape he had let himself fall into, he saw it as a problem that needed immediate fixing.  The grins Ronan gave Adam didn’t meet his eyes like they once did, and the touches between them that used to come naturally now came with a rigidity that Adam wasn’t used to.

It was almost closing time, but the store had already emptied for the day, save Adam, Gansey, and Ronan.  Usually, it was just assumed that Adam would accompany Ronan to his apartment afterwards, but now he wasn’t sure.  That hadn’t been the case for the last week or so.  Ronan had been leaving the earliest out of the three of them lately, muttering a curt goodbye as he hurried out.  That dilemma was put off however, by Noah stepping through the door, champagne bottle in hand, as he flipped the “open” sign to “closed”.

“Hello all! I now officially declare tonight a Family Game Night!” he cheerily yelled.

All heads turned towards him, and Adam eyed his hands which were devoid of any actual games.

“What if I have plans?” Ronan asked.

“How much did you pay for that champagne?” Adam asked.

“What game did you have in mind?” Gansey asked.

“You don’t have plans, barely anything at all, and…” he paused for effect, “we’re playing truth or dare, baby!”

Gansey laughed, Adam sighed, and Ronan said, “Fuck no.  Noah we are not in high school.”

Gansey stepped over and grabbed the bottle from Noah, saying, “Oh come on, it seems fun! Plus, we haven’t all gotten together in so long.”

Adam had admittedly never played truth or dare. He wasn’t inherently opposed to it, but at this current moment, he had quite a bit of dangerous truths.  Ronan’s stance against the whole idea was easily torn down once the champagne was popped.  He grabbed it, took a swig, and sat cross legged on the floor in front of the counter.  Gansey joined him on his right, and Noah on his left, leaving a spot open for Adam in between the two of them. 

Ronan met his eye and arched a brow, almost as if in challenge.  That was the first time he’d directly met Adam’s gaze since he arrived at the store today, which was something.  So, he sat down.

Adam became very good at accepting dares.  Gansey dared him to do a handstand, which he executed perfectly, making Gansey clap in delight.  Noah dared him to close his eyes and guess whose hand was put to his lips.  It was Ronan’s, and he guessed it immediately.  He opened his eyes to see Ronan averting his.  Ronan had never chosen Adam when it was his turn, always going to Gansey or Noah. 

Gansey he had dared to get a new couch, but when met with an unamused look, changed his dare to that of chugging what was left of the champagne.  There really wasn’t that much left, they had been passing it around most of the night and Adam was only a touch tipsy.  However, Gansey, who had the lowest alcohol tolerance of them all, made a big show of it, which wasn’t helped by the fact that Ronan hooted and hollered, “Woo! Let’s go, man!” the whole time as Noah cackled.  His face was flushed as he set the bottle down, and Adam directed his next turn to him.

“Do you actually think you’re going to find Glendower?”

Noah quickly lost his mirth, and Ronan looked defensive on Gansey’s behalf.

Gansey himself though, gave Adam a strange look and a sad smile, before replying, “Of course.  I know it’s quite dangerous to mold your entire sense of self worth around a seemingly fruitless quest, but to me, if I don’t have Glendower, then I suppose I don’t have much of anything.  So, I have to believe he’s waiting for me out there somewhere.”

Adam didn’t know what to say.  He knew what he wanted to say, but he also knew it wasn’t what Gansey wanted to hear.  Gansey was a hard-headed optimist, so he believed because he felt like he had no choice but to.  He set a hand on Gansey’s shoulder, which Gansey quickly covered with his own, sad smile turning grateful as he said, “I’m rather glad you stumbled into our little bookstore, Adam Parrish.”

Gansey was the most intoxicated out of all them, but this made Adam even more convinced that what he said was truthful, a musing from his unfiltered mind.  He meant what he said, and so did Adam when he responded, “Me too, Gansey.”

Ronan stretched out his leg to nudge Adam who was sitting across from him, “Enough of the sentimental shit, come on, it’s Noah’s turn.”

He gave Adam a look that was hard to decipher.  It held no heat, but it wasn’t soft, more calculating.  Adam wondered if maybe Ronan was jealous.

Noah held his head in his hands as he swiveled his body to face Adam, his next victim.

“And for the grand finale of the night, I, Noah Czerny, ask Adam Parrish the time-honored question—”

“Truth,” he interrupted before Noah could ask, before he could even think.

Noah paused.  “Oh? Cool, cool, cool, just as I planned.  So, Adam—and remember, the truth only—do you loooooove Ronan?”  He drew out “love” so it was excruciatingly long, almost losing his breath and going red in face.  Well, even more red in the face.  Noah was already nearly translucent before alcohol, so after a couple drinks the blood beneath his skin was the about the only thing you could see, besides his ever-present smudge of course, the likes of which Adam still hadn’t figured out.

Adam knew Noah meant it half-jokingly, half-seriously, but that didn’t make his answer any less real.  The question was asked by Noah, but it was asked by Ronan.  He directed his eyes to Ronan, who didn’t look away.  The dark blue of his eyes were steeled as Adam said, “Yes.”  They widened a fraction of an inch, and the corner of his lip played at turning up.

“Awwww,” Noah droned.  Adam felt a heavy weight fall on his shoulder and he turned to see Gansey slumped against him, asleep.

“Fucking lightweight,” Ronan scoffed.

Adam slung one of Gansey’s arms around his shoulder as Ronan did the same on the other side.

“Can you lock up?” Ronan directed this at Adam.

“Sure, I’ll just need a set of keys.”

Ronan fished his set from his pocket and handed them over to Adam.  Their hands clasped during the exchange, and Adam held on, grip tight, squeezing once before letting go.  Ronan reached up to quickly pat Adam on the cheek, “See you soon, Parrish, night, Noah.”

Adam released Gansey from his hold, making him stumble a bit before regaining his footing.

“Come on, Gansey Boy, let’s get you home,” Ronan said as they walked out.

Noah waved and turned to go to, but Adam stopped him.

“Wait Noah, before you go, I just wanted to say thanks, for tonight.  It was fun.”

“Oh, it was nothing.  I noticed Ronan had been a bit more doom and gloom recently so what better way to loosen up the crowd up than booze and party games?  Catch you later!”

And then, Adam Parrish was once again alone.

...

Adam awoke the next morning to a text on his phone, from D.  He hadn’t heard from him since he was told to go on his break.

**D: Check the radio.  Time to roll out.  You’ve got three days.**

He dropped his phone, like it had just scalded him, and he was hit with a wave of nausea.  This was inevitable, of course a new assignment had to come in eventually.  He had known this, he had known this, _he had known this_.  But it was a thought he passed over, something so unpleasant that his mind created a barrier against it.  He could know it, but not know it.  Every time he touched Ronan, this flashed in the back of his head, but then when Ronan would touch him back, he would brush the thought away. 

More to the point, he still didn’t know if Ronan was the voice he’d been pining after like some naïve teenage boy, but what he did know now was that he didn’t care.  Whoever Ronan was, the voice or a random bookstore employee, Adam had grown to care deeply for him, and couldn’t bear to never have him in his life again after these three days were up.

He should have turned on his bedside radio, dutifully listened to his instructions, and began preparing.  Instead, he called Blue.

“Hello?” she sounded a bit frantic.  They didn’t call each other unless it was an absolute emergency, and Adam had never had to invoke that right, until now.

“Hey, before you ask, I’m fine.  Physically.  And I’m alone.  I just, I kind of fucked up Blue.”

Adam heard the metal sound of a spoon clank against her teeth as he talked, filled with yogurt, no doubt.

“God, it’s nice to hear your voice again, I missed you.  Also, I am all ears for how the magnificent Adam Parrish fucked up.  Hit me.”

So, he told her everything.  Baring every detail of him and Ronan’s relationship perhaps wasn’t the wisest of choices, but considering that picking the wisest choice wasn’t exactly Adam’s strong-suit as of late, he went forward anyway.  From his first fixations on the voice, to actually meeting Ronan in Excelsior, to the spots around Rome, to the spot in Ronan’s bed, Adam relayed to Blue, who only interrupted with her sounds of delight or shock depending on the moment.  Adam paused to gather his breath, and Blue thought he was done.

“Adam! I’m so happy for you! I’m confused though, where’s the emergency in there? So far, it just sounds like you two running around Rome being sappy and cute, which don’t get me wrong, I’m all here for.”

“I’m getting there.  This morning, D texted me.  I have a new assignment.  In three days, I have to leave but the thought of it is killing me. Why can’t the Magician just go, and then I can stay here?” he finished, feeling like a petulant child throwing a tantrum with the final line.

There was quiet on the other side of the line.

“You know,” Blue began, “for being so smart, you can be a real dumbass sometimes.”

This was not the advice he had been expecting.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

This was followed by a deep sigh as Blue replied, “The Magician can’t go while you stay here, for one simple reason: the Magician can only be the Magician because he is also Adam Parrish.  Why do you think the Magician completes every mission he’s given?  Because Adam Parrish doesn’t fail.  Why do you think the Magician is always tasked with the most complex array of tasks and puzzles?  Because Adam Parrish is a genius.  Adam, the Magician is a part of you whether you want to accept it or not.  You can’t just leave at the door like you want to, which by the way, you shouldn’t want to.  You’re badass, and dedicated, and incredibly talented.  And so is the Magician.”

Blue was right, which she usually was.  He had seen the Magician as something so separate from himself, a dark alter ego that he only put on out of necessity, rather than an added layer to the entirety of his identity.  It wasn’t because he hated his job, but because he was afraid he would hate the person his job would make him become.  That was a long time ago though, when he first started, before he realized that those thoughts were unfounded.  That lie had become so entrenched in his mind that even after he could recognize that it wasn’t true, he couldn’t shake off its hold. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Blue.”

“Probably sit and wallow in your own self-misery.”

Adam laughed, “Okay, ouch, but you aren’t wrong.  That still doesn’t solve the issue of Ronan just being Ronan, and me not willing to involve him in this mess of a business, though.”

“Agents can, and do, have partners and people close to them that aren’t involved.  Just because you and I aren’t good at doing that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

“I know, I know, but I’d still have to keep so much from him and I’m just so _tired._ These past months have made me realize that I really think I’m done, Blue.  I want to stay here, with Ronan, in Rome, without worrying when I’ll be forced to leave again.  I just want simple permanency for once.”

This was the first time Adam had spoken his thoughts about leaving his job out loud, and while it scared him, it also filled him with a sense of determination.  He was a good agent, and there were things he liked about it, but none of those things compared to what he liked about being here.  Never once in Adam’s life had he found somewhere that he wanted to stay, but now, that’s all he wanted.

Blue whistled appreciatively, “Oh man. I mean, I’ll support you in whatever you want to do, but D is not going to like that one bit.  You know you’re his little Trophy Agent.”

Adam, who had been sitting on his bed up until this point, stood and began pacing.

“I’m well aware.  That’s why I need to complete this assignment, my final assignment and tell D that I’m done afterwards.  Then, once I’ve left, I can return to Rome for good.”

“Aww, you’re going to ask Ronan to wait for you? You never told me you were such a romantic!”

“It’s not romantic, it’s practical,” Adam grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, Loverboy.  In all seriousness, I think it just might work.  No matter if you’re still an agent or not after all of this, you’re still my best friend, and I’m rooting for you.”

Adam smiled, Blue’s sincerity could be felt from over the line, and it helped to calm his nerves.

“Thank you, really.  Oh, and if this all works out, I have someone I need to introduce to you to.  I think you’re going to find him insufferable.”

“And that’s supposed to be a good thing?”

“Yes! He wears boat shoes.  Everyday.”

“God, that’s awful!”

“He’s also very charming. You’re going to love him.”

“I thought you said I was going to hate him.”

“You’ll do both, trust me.”

“I do, arguably too much.  I have to run, you know the drill.  Stay safe, and good luck.”

Adam said goodbye, and the line went dead.  Having some semblance of a plan in place made him feel much more grounded, even if it was a plan that still involved him leaving for an unknown amount of time.  He was coming back though, he reminded himself.

Setting his phone on his lap, he lay back and clicked the radio on, tuning to the designated station.  Static filled the air, but was quickly silenced by a voice.  The voice.  It read off a quick series of numbers, then went silent.  He listened, jotted down the coordinates, and turned it off with a sigh.  It still sounded like Ronan Lynch.

...

The next day, Sunday, Excelsior was closed, and Adam arrived at Ronan’s with the goal of having a final quiet day in with him before telling him of his departure. They weren’t completely past whatever mood Ronan was in, but the truth or dare game seemed to have helped. However, the moment he stepped inside and was greeted with Ronan’s smile, and Chainsaw’s squawk, he felt the hole in his chest burn.  Ronan kissed him, but he couldn’t find it within himself to give more than a chaste peck back.

They settled down on the couch, Ronan at one end while Adam laid lengthwise with his head in Ronan’s lap.  He had quite literally just rolled out of bed before coming over so his hair was a mess, and Ronan muttered something about him needing some deep conditioner while he tried to untangle some of the knots in in it.  Ronan hadn’t changed out of his sweats yet, which he rarely wore anywhere but here, so they were fully imbued with his aroma.  Adam turned his nose and breathed in deeply, trying to permanently etch it into his memory.

Ronan flicked his ear, “What are you doing? Fucking weirdo, want me to bottle up my sweat and make it into a perfume for you too?”

As much as that didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world to Adam, he wouldn’t ever give Ronan the satisfaction of knowing that, so he just pinched his thigh in response, making Ronan squirm. 

They eventually settled on watching _Raiders of the Lost Ark,_ one of their old favorites.  Adam was half watching the movie—a.k.a. focusing on Ronan’s fingers on his scalp as his eyes glazed over—and half letting himself slide into a self-reflective state that wouldn’t be productive for anyone, and would only end in the type of solemnity he was trying to put off until later.

About two-thirds of the way into it, Ronan paused the movie and poked Adam’s temple to get his attention.

“Hey, what gives, Parrish?  Usually by now you’ve talked about how hot Indiana Jones is in his professor outfit at least twice, and then called him Gansey at least three times.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been acting weird since you got here; don’t think you can try and fool me.”

Adam didn’t want to do this now, but he couldn’t keep the charade up any longer, and it was obvious that Ronan had already seen through it.  He pushed himself up off of Ronan’s lap so he could properly face him.

“I have to leave.  Soon.  I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, or when I’ll be back, but I will be, I promise.”

Ronan stared at him, disbelief written on his face.  In a low and careful voice, he said, “And why, exactly, do you have to leave?”

Adam knew this wasn’t the right answer, but he said it anyway. “I can’t say.  It’s for my job, but I just can’t give any more details than that.”

Adam saw something in Ronan shatter as a harsh laugh escaped his throat.  He stood up from the couch, muscles visibly tight and coiled, breaths coming in controlled inhales and exhales.  It seemed as if Ronan needed to physically separate himself from Adam as quickly as possible, and Adam thought he’d never felt worse in his life.  His hands were tightly molded into fists, and he could feel his short nails managing to make crescent moons on his skin as he dug them into the cushions below him.

Ronan made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of water.  Adam watched him drink it, throat working, and all he wished was that he could have closed the distance between them and kissed the throat he was watching.  He finished the water, and calmly set it in the sink, then turned his eyes to Adam.  Adam had never truly faced the might that was Ronan’s anger until now.

“Unbelievable.  Is it because the damn mission’s over?  Your work here is done, huh?  Get close to Ronan, see what he’s really up to, fucking steal his heart in the process, then crush it, all because you’re so far up Declan’s ass like the rest of the world!  You’re good, Adam, I’ll give you that.  I had my suspicions for a while, but then I thought after that little love confession you preformed the other day that maybe what we had was real.  I guess I was just being delusional, anything for the job.”

Adam’s brain short-circuited in that moment, and he truly thought he had never been more confused in his life. Before he could even begin to process any of what Ronan said, he blurted out, “What the actual fuck are you talking about, Ronan?  What we have _is_ real, one of the realest things I’ve ever known!”

Adam’s raised voice startled Chainsaw, who skittered and flew out the window.  Ronan watched her go, then threw up his hands, exasperated.

“Drop the act, man, show’s over! I know you’re a fancy fucking spy, with your fancy fucking missions, and your boss is my fancy fucking brother, Declan.”

Information slotted into place just as quickly as other information—information he thought was concrete—was smashed to bits.  On some level, Ronan knew, but on another level, he had no idea.  He vaguely registered that he now knew D’s real name: Declan, Declan Lynch apparently.  The “Lynch” part was what Adam was mostly fixated on.  He remembered Ronan mentioning an older brother, but knowing that brother was _D_ forced a restructuring of every idea Adam had constructed of them in his mind.  The fact that Ronan thought Adam was under D’s thumb, and only approached him because he was forced to made him feel sick.

“No, you’re wrong.  I mean, you’re not, but you are,” he fumbled out.

Ronan leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.  He raised an eyebrow, inviting Adam to continue.  Shifting his body so he was directly facing Ronan, Adam set his face so to impress upon Ronan that, for once, what he was about to say was the entire truth.

“I do work as an intelligence agent, and Declan is my superior, yes.  However,” this word, Adam stressed, “I am not currently working a mission, Declan has no idea we even know each other exists, and this is the first I’m even hearing his first name, much less the fact that he’s your brother.”

Ronan’s expression didn’t change.  “So why are you in Rome then?  Your file said your mission was currently still active.”

“My what? Jesus, how much do you know about me? I had a job in Rome, and what I did was just part of a larger mission that I’m no longer involved with but is still active. When I finished my part, D…Declan told me I was operating as a sleeper until further notice.  Basically, I was put on forced vacation time.  Independent forced vacation time, where I was under no explicit orders.”

He quieted, looking at Ronan, waiting for any sign that indicated he believed him.  He kicked off from the counter, blew out a long breath and walked back over to the couch, sitting down next to Adam.  He noticed that while Ronan had left a decent amount of space between them, and he had yet to let himself relax into the cushions, he was still here, and the fire seemed to have become a dull smolder rather than the burning flame that it was earlier.

“And what, it really was just pure coincidence that we met at Excelsior then?”  Ronan’s voice was gruff and he didn’t look at Adam.

“Now, that’s the other thing.  I used to listen to this same stupid voice day in and day out whenever I would get my new assignments.  Then, when I walked into Excelsior that day and heard you, I convinced myself that you were that voice, and therefore you were somehow involved, and therefore it was safe for me to be involved, with you.  Obviously, I was wrong, which I learned when you didn’t seem to know anything until apparently you thought you did, and when I saw you didn’t even know how to do a simple sleeper’s hold. Plus, that damn voice is the one that just gave me my instructions to leave Rome, and who tells their boyfriend to get the hell out of the country without so much as a warning?”

Adam heard a soft chuckle come from Ronan, which quickly escalated in volume until he was doubled over in laughter.  This was not exactly what Adam expected the response to his longest held secret to be.  Ronan lifted a hand to Adam’s shoulder to steady himself, slowly inching closer to Adam in the process.

“You fucking idiot.” Adam opened his mouth to protest the claim, but Ronan continued, “That was me.  I’m not a stupid spy like you, hot-shot, but I have a deal with Declan where he leaves me alone if I help him out by reading off those numbers.  I don’t know shit about any of the inside information, and frankly, I don’t care to, but I do have access to his files if I play nice, which is what I did the night you went all James Bond on those assholes.”

Adam always pictured a bigger reaction within himself when he found out the truth behind the voice.  Despair if it wasn’t Ronan, and celebration if it was.  Instead, all he felt was a settling in his chest, a confirmation of something he had known all along, just hadn’t had the evidence to prove, so he didn’t definitively believe it to be true.  It had always been Ronan, when he was huddled alone in a small church attic, sprawled out alone on a hotel bed after suffering through a ball, or sitting at the edge of his bed in a small apartment in Rome.

He had also always figured that the night of the fight had been a breaking point, and had something to do with Ronan’s distance afterwards, but he never thought that it would end in Ronan thinking Adam was only with him as a part of a job.  Knowing that Ronan wasn’t under that assumption for long did provide Adam with some slight relief, but the fact that he thought it at all still made his stomach turn.

“I can’t believe you really believed this, us, was all just for show.  Were a few words on a computer screen really enough to convince you?” Adam asked, an edge of disappointment leaking into his voice.

Ronan sighed, and closed the small remaining space between them, bringing their sides together.  His head dropped to Adam’s shoulder, who let it stay there.  He had missed their closeness, missed Ronan’s unnatural warmth.

“What else was I supposed to think? I was pissed that you were working for my asshat of a brother, and I was pissed that you kept it from me, so I was looking for some answers.  When it said that you were in Rome, and that you were on a mission, I put two and two together and it equaled ‘right, why would I ever get one good thing in my damn life when it could actually be Declan fucking with me’.  It never made sense, not really.  Like, it did on the surface, it seemed like the perfect little plan, but I just couldn’t believe that all the shit you said, the shit you did—I mean come on, Parrish, nobody gives that good of a hand job unless you feel s _omething_ ” Adam shoved his thigh against Ronan’s at this, “—and then you go and say you love me during truth or dare!  That’s when I thought to myself that maybe it started as fake, and turned into something more, but then when you came here today saying you were leaving, I didn’t know what the hell was going on anymore.”

Adam almost laughed at how absurd and convoluted everything had become.  They sat, and Ronan drummed his fingers on Adam’s thigh in the meantime.  After a while, Adam stopped him by pushing his fingers through Ronan’s, who immediately brought their joined hands to his mouth.  Adam pushed the fingers of his other hand up against Ronan’s forehead until he got the memo and raised his head.  Adam kissed his jaw on both sides before pressing their lips together.  Ronan matched him in stride, and they said through touch what they couldn’t through words.

Ronan pulled far enough back to say, “So, does this mean you don’t want to break up?”

Adam jerked away, “What? I never said I wanted to break up in the first place.”

“Is that not what your little ‘I’m leaving, see you never’ speech was proposing earlier?”

“I literally promised that I would come back, Ronan.”

“Okay, I do see your point.”

“Dumbass.”

Ronan bit Adam’s lip in retaliation.  This then prompted Adam to put his hand on Ronan’s chest with the goal of pushing him away, but instead finding himself being pulled even closer.  Adam let himself be tucked into Ronan, head in the crook of his neck, ear pressed firmly to his chest, feeling the steady beat of Ronan’s heart.  One of Ronan’s arms came to snake around to Adam’s back, holding him in place and rubbing steady circles on his back as they breathed in tandem with one another.

“I don’t want you to leave, Adam. Ever,” Ronan finally said, all levity gone in his voice from earlier.

“I know, me either.  I just have to do this last job, then I’m done.”

“Fuck that, why can’t you just be done now? Does Declan already know you’re quitting?” 

Adam could tell Ronan was frustrated by this, and that he wanted there to be an easy fix.

“No, not yet.  I was planning on telling him right before I left Rome, but he’s not going to just let me go when I already have my next assignment.”

Pushing Adam away, Ronan dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone.  Before Adam could protest—he already could see where this was going—it was on speaker, ringing, and an irritated voice could be heard from the other line saying, “Ronan, what is it? I’m very busy today.”

“Fuck you, Adam quits,” was Ronan’s tasteful greeting.

For quite possibly the first time in his life, Declan sounded flustered when he responded, “Wait—what?  Adam who?”

Adam cleared his throat before speaking up, “Adam Parrish, sir.  I’ve decided that, in light of recent events, my time with the agency must come to an inevitable close.  I very much appreciate all you’ve done for me here, and I fully plan on seeing through my last assignment before my departure.”

“Yeah, no, not if I have anything to say about it.  You can find someone else to go to where ever the hell you’re about to send Parrish to, he’s out,” Ronan piped up.

“First off, I don’t understand at all what’s going on, but what I do know is that no, Ronan, you don’t have anything to say about it.  Secondly, there is nobody else capable enough to accomplish what I need right now.  I specifically tailored this mission’s goal so it precisely lined up with the Magician’s skillsets.  Before that though, I really, really would like to know why the hell I’m speaking to my best agent from my brother’s phone.”

Adam and Ronan both looked at each other, not sure who would be better to relay this mess of a story.  Eventually, Ronan nudged his head towards Adam, and he, again, proceeded to lay out what he had been up to during his time off—which, he reminded Declan in the most diplomatic of ways, was forced upon him by Declan himself.  The amount of people who suddenly knew way too much about Adam’s personal life had skyrocketed in a matter of less than twenty-four hours.  Poor Gansey, who was still oblivious to it all.  They would have to call him later.

There was a deep, defeated sigh from Declan.

“While I do think that perhaps you’ll be able to bring out the finer qualities of Ronan that must be there buried deep within” a middle finger was raised on Ronan’s end, even though this was a voice only call, “I find this all to be horribly inconvenient and ill-timed.  I have to respect your decision to leave—even though I highly urge you to reconsider—but I cannot have you backing out of this job before it’s over.”

Adam worked his jaw as Ronan chewed his wristbands.  Declan wasn’t one to fill silence, so he simply waited for one of them to respond.  Finally, Ronan did.

“You’re always telling me I need to get out of Rome.  So…what if I did?  What if I went with Adam to…?” Ronan looked at him expectantly.

“Berlin,” Adam supplied.

“Right, Berlin.  What if I go to Berlin with Adam, he does whatever he has to do, then we come back to Rome, and you let Adam free from the shackles you’ve got him in?”

Adam almost objected that he couldn’t let Ronan come with him, that just him being there was too dangerous, but he held his tongue.  He knew the risks, and if Adam said no that would only make Ronan say yes even louder.  It also, theoretically, was not a bad offer.

Declan seemed to recognize this too, because he said, “Christ, fine, Ronan.  You’re buying your own plane ticket, you still leave tomorrow, and I’m still not happy.”

“When are you ever?” Ronan bit back, but the look on his face betrayed the attempted heat in his voice.

“Thank you, sir, really.  I promise I won’t let Ronan’s presence impede on my successful completion of the operation,” Adam said. 

He saw Ronan roll his eyes and mockingly mouth what Adam had just said, complete with exaggerated hand movements.  Adam ignored him as much as possible.

“I know you won’t, there’s a reason you’re the best.  We’re not done talking about this either.  Would you be interested in staying on as a special trainer afterwards?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s better than a ‘no’.  We can discuss this in more detail later.  Ronan, don’t forget to call Matthew before you leave.”

“I won’t.  I thought you said you were busy, why haven’t you left yet?”

“I am busy, but this ended up being a pressing matter.  Now that it seems to be roughly figured out I do have to go.  Adam, I’ll be in touch shortly with further instructions once you both arrive.  Ronan, be careful.”

“Bye, Declan,” Adam said.  That was the first time Adam had referred to Declan by name, and the reverse went as well.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ronan mumbled as he hung up the phone.

“So,” Adam said.

“So,” Ronan replied.

Adam stretched his arms above his head as he stood up from the couch.  He held his hand out to Ronan, who took it before Adam could even speak.

“Dinner at my place tonight?” he asked, unable to keep a lopsided grin from spreading across his face.

Ronan blinked, processing what Adam had said, but more importantly, what he hadn’t: that he wanted to have Ronan in his life, completely, that instead of keeping this last part of himself—a part he hadn’t even fully considered part of himself until recently—under lock and key, he wanted to pull Ronan in, give him a tour, and explain every facet in detail.

“You know, Parrish, I really thought you’d never ask,” Ronan said.  His voice was low, even, and slightly gruff.  Just like all the times he’d heard it over the radio.  Just like all the times he’d replayed it in his head afterwards.  Just like all the times he’d heard it say his name throughout these past months.  Just like all the times he’d continue to hear it say his name, well into the future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....the end, ~fin~! I can't believe this is already over, and I'm so sad to see it go, I already miss it (there maaaaay be an epilogue eventually but no promises, it'll depend on how much finals week fries my brain lol). I hope you all enjoyed and thank you SO much for reading and bearing with me as I stumbled my way through this plot; this was my first experience with a chaptered fic and thanks to you all it was such a wonderful experience. Sitting down to read all your comments' has been the best part of my week since starting this, and I hope you all had as good of a time reading it as I did writing it <3


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought the main fic was self-indulgent? then you haven't read this epilogue: absurd amounts of fluff with a dash of light porn. happy holidays!

Adam returned earlier that night while Ronan was in the shower.  He had just completed the final component of his task here in Berlin, and they were set to leave early in the morning the day after tomorrow.  He was done.  Finished. For good. 

He logged his mission as complete, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t awaiting a new assignment to follow.  Instead, he was awaiting Rome.  He wasn’t looking forward to hearing Ronan’s muffled voice over the radio.  Instead, he was looking forward to hearing Ronan’s crystal-clear voice as he trailed his lips down Adam’s jaw.

He changed out of his suit, throwing on some sweatpants as Ronan exited the bathroom, donning a similar pair.  There was a very high chance that Adam had grabbed his from Ronan’s pile of clothes; he had been doing that more and more lately.  Ronan saw the recently discarded suit and feigned a look of disappointment.

“Now, what if I had a grand plan of slowly undressing you out of that suit?”

Adam tried to roll his eyes, but they quickly became distracted with the fact that Ronan had not toweled down his chest properly, and small rivulets of water were pooling on his collarbones, inching their way down his ribs.

“Rain check, Lynch. Plus, you do realize I get to keep the suits I wear on the job, right?  So, it’s not like it’s the last time you’ll see me in this thing,” Adam let out an impressive yawn as he finished.

“Good to know, Parrish, good to know.”

Adam yawned again and Ronan stepped close, wrapping his arms around him.  Letting his head fall against Ronan’s chest, Adam breathed in the scent of a freshly-washed Ronan, and reveled in the fact that this was now his normal.  Ronan’s need to be touching Adam as much as possible during the night only dissipated slightly during the day, and Adam was more than willing to indulge him.  Cultivated carefully over the years, his unhealthy relationship with touch wasn’t something that unspooled itself with one simple tug.  Ronan’s casual touches, however, provided Adam a place of ease, and many times—like now—there wasn’t anything he wanted more than to fold himself completely into Ronan and let sleep overtake him.

Ronan ran his hands over Adam’s back a few times before moving to step away, eliciting a decidedly child-like whine from him.  Ronan laughed and intertwined their fingers.

“Come on, Mr. Bond,” he said, tugging on Adam as he led them over to the bed, flicking off the lights on the way.

Their hotel bed was entirely too big for only two people, especially when those two people were Adam and Ronan.  Ronan was a clingy sleeper, his preferred position being wrapped completely around Adam, and Adam had quickly adapted. 

Even if they went to sleep on opposite sides of the bed—which frankly, wasn’t often—Adam would always wake up with Ronan attached to him somehow—plastered against his back, arm thrown across his chest, legs tangled within his own, nose nuzzled against his neck, the solid weight of Ronan’s body on his pinning him down.  So, in this giant bed, they took up no more than one third of it.

Adam lay on his side, facing Ronan who was on his back, head tilted to Adam’s way.  Lightly, Ronan also trailed his fingers down Adam’s sides, brushing the skin underneath his shirt every so often, causing him to hum in contentment and shut his eyes.  Soon after, he felt Ronan scoot closer and wedge his legs in between Adam’s, the closeness comforting. 

Even with his eyes closed he knew Ronan was watching him, could feel Ronan’s gaze flit from the freckles spanning his cheeks to the top of his head where his hair dusted over, stiff with the gel he hadn’t managed to get out.  The fingers at his sides vanished once Ronan noticed the leftover hair product; he began to run his fingers through the strands in an attempt to break some of it up.

This knowledge, of being watched without watching back, used to sew threads of unease and worry through the fabric of Adam’s mind.  Worry that Ronan’s prying eyes would unearth truths that Adam had buried, truths that he had determined to smother from lack of sunlight until they withered and died, and worry that Ronan’s attention would be just enough to bring them back to life. 

Now, however, he felt none of that.  Adam’s garden of sins—while not empty—was now something Ronan was privy to wander through at his leisure, and nothing new had taken root there for quite some time.  And if something did, that was okay, because Ronan had his own garden, and neither of them were perfect, and that was all okay.

“What is this shit?  Did Declan make you use actual glue on your hair?” Ronan grumbled as his fingers hit a snag stitched together by the illusive thing that was hair gel.

Adam managed a smile, “Maybe, don’t care, I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

He cracked open an eye to see that as he thought, Ronan’s gaze was fixed directly on him, adoration evident throughout.  This was followed by an inclination of Ronan’s head, and a soft kiss being placed on Adam’s lips.

“Don’t you want to hear how tonight went?” Adam said as Ronan pulled away.

For the last week, while Adam had been putting different parts of the plan in place, he had been certain that the second it was all over Ronan would barrage him with questions.  He had already tried to glean information about Adam’s past missions, much to Adam’s contempt, as he answered, “Lynch, you know that’s classified information” to everything Ronan asked.  This earned him the fakest pout he had ever seen, accompanied by “Come on, not even for me?”, and topped off with a slow batting of the eyelashes. 

Only once had Adam relented, his will was not as strong as he wished it was, and simply said, “On one of my first missions, I spilled my very expensive drink all over the mark and her very expensive dress.”  Ronan wasn’t impressed.

“Of course, I do. But I have a feeling it’ll be told much better by an awake Adam Parrish rather than an Adam Parrish who’s already half asleep.  Something to look forward to for tomorrow.”

“You know,” Adam began, before being taken over by another yawn, “we have the full day to ourselves tomorrow, completely free.”

Ronan’s hand slipped under Adam’s shirt and made its way over Adam’s chest until it stopped, placed flat right over his heart. 

“Oh, trust me, I’m well aware.”  This time, Ronan yawned.  “Your yawning is fucking contagious.”

All Adam could manage was a grunt that was supposed to be the makings of a chuckle, and a mumbled, “Goodnight, Ronan.”

The hand against his heart flexed, and he felt another hand brush against his face as the voice belonging to those hands said, “Goodnight, Magician.”

…

The morning began with a yell.  Per usual, throughout the night Adam and Ronan’s bodies became so twisted within each other that where one went, the other followed.  As a result, when Ronan tossed in his sleep, tossed so much and so far, that he went straight off the side of the bed, Adam ended up on the floor too.  Well, more accurately he ended up partially on the floor and partially on Ronan’s chest, but not before jerking awake on the way down as Ronan yelled out an impressively creative swear starting and ending with some variation of ‘fuck’.

They sat in silence for a moment before Adam lifted his head to give Ronan a look that he hoped conveyed how irritated he was at their present situation.

Instead of apologizing, Ronan ruefully smiled and said, “Wicked bed-head you’ve got going on, Parrish.”

Adam sighed and flopped his head back down.  Ronan’s hands took purchase in his hair, in an attempt to smooth it out.

“I do own a hairbrush you know,” he said, voice slightly muffled against Ronan’s chest.

“You shouldn’t.  All that purchase does is feed into big business.  Fuck capitalism, democracy’s a farce, you know the drill.”

“Ronan.  It’s a hairbrush.”

“Just shut up and let me fix it.  It’s how I’m coping with the fall.”

Adam opened his mouth to bite something back, but the feeling of Ronan slowly moving his fingers over his scalp did feel incredibly good, and so in the end, he said nothing at all.  It felt so good that eventually he felt his eyes being to droop close, and right as he was about to slip back into sleep, Ronan jammed a finger in his cheek.

“Hey now, I can’t have you falling back asleep on me.  We’ve got a big day ahead of ourselves today!”

Adam cracked an eye open, then moved his head so instead of resting his cheek on Ronan’s chest, he could prop himself up on his chin in order to face Ronan.

“A big day ahead of ourselves?  Today’s our free day, we don’t have to do anything.”

Although Adam’s final mission was technically complete, they had been given an extra day in Berlin before heading back to Rome.  Whether that was a moment of kindness on Declan’s part, or a result of the flight being less expensive tomorrow rather than today, Adam couldn’t be certain.

A shine appeared in Ronan’s eye at the same time the corner of his lips turned up just too far to one side to simply be called a smile.

“ _Have to,_ is the key phrase here.  We don’t have to, but we are going to,” he paused to smooth back the remaining hair from Adam’s forehead, “because, you see, Parrish, I’ve planned for us a quick and dirty tour of Berlin, Lynch style.”

“Tour guide Ronan Lynch?  Getting back to our roots, huh?”

Ronan moved his hand to cup Adam’s cheek, and he could feel the soft brush of the ever-present wristbands against his face.  He let his own face slip on a grin as Ronan did the same, and he inched his way forward so their faces were level.  It wasn’t comfortable, but Adam didn’t care.

“Fuck yeah, we are,” Ronan said close enough to feel each word as they curled their way across his face.

It was quiet, it was warm, and it was nice.  Until Ronan pushed him off with a rough shove.

“Now, get the hell up and get ready, we don’t have all day!”

It took almost all of Adam’s willpower not to bite back that they literally did have all day.  Instead, he hoisted himself up and let himself admire his personal favorite sight regardless of the city: Ronan Lynch’s tattoo.  It moved with every breath Ronan took, coiling and bending each time he shuffled around in his suitcase trying to find a clean shirt to wear.

Eventually he pulled out a worn grey t-shirt and slipped it on.

“Wow, you’re really stepping out today with that color choice, Lynch,” Adam commented, standing and then immediately falling back on their plush bed.

Ronan prowled over and leaned, caging Adam in from above.

“You shithead, what do I have to do in order for you to stay out of that damn bed?  I wish Chainsaw was here so I could make her peck at you until you got up” he said, face hanging perilously close to Adam’s.

Cracking a grin, Adam replied, “First of all, Chainsaw would never, she loves me too much.  Second of all, maybe a simple ‘please’ would do?”

Because Ronan couldn’t do anything the ‘simple’ way, and at the end of the day, he was a drama queen, he gave in to Adam’s demands.  Just not in the traditional sense.  Instead of just saying please and having that be the end of it, he took a deep breath, and cleared his throat—this was when Adam knew he should never have assumed Ronan Lynch would take the easy way out.

“Adam I Still Don’t Know Your Middle Name But If You Were Wondering Mine’s Niall Parrish, my light, my Magician, my one true and ever-lasting love, would you _please_ do me the distinguished honor of accompany me through the city of Berlin today?”  Ronan held Adam’s gaze the whole time, he was anything if not dedicated to his performance. 

Part of Adam wanted to roll his eyes at the absurdity of the delivery, while part of him wanted to kiss Ronan silly.  He knew not all of it was said in jest, and there was something about being Ronan’s Magician instead of Declan’s Magician that made Adam feel quiet.

Adam was about to respond when Ronan continued—apparently he wasn’t finished, “Oh, and I forgot to mention the best part.  This time around, the Ronan Lynch Tour Extravaganza comes complete with a bonus add-on…of the Adult variety.”

He waggled his eyebrows in a decidedly unsexy fashion, and Adam muttered, “Christ”, but he still let Ronan press a kiss to his lips—even craning his head up to meet him halfway—before putting his hands to Ronan’s chest so he could actually make himself ready for whatever day Ronan had planned.

What Ronan had planned, it turned out, was exactly what he claimed it to be: a true return to how they had first met, visiting different spots within the city, some more obscure than others. They started with the Brandenburg Gate, a sight so imposing that it left Adam wordlessly staring up.  The sheer size of the structure was extraordinary, not to mention all of its intricate detailing, from the massive pillars below to the quadriga sculpture perched on top.

“This is pretty fucking sweet,” Ronan remarked, also craning his neck to get a better view.

“Right,” Adam eloquently replied.

A couple that looked to be around their age was nearby, which gave Adam an idea. He swiped Ronan’s phone from his pocket and detached himself, walking over to them.

“Entschuldigung,” he began, tapping one of the girls on the shoulder and holding out the phone, “könnten Sie bitte Foto von uns machen?”

Adam’s German wasn’t nearly as good as his Italian, but he knew enough to get by.  He’d also be lying if he didn’t get some pleasure out of the fact that Ronan definitely had a thing for him speaking German much like Adam had a thing for Ronan speaking Latin.

“You know,” he had mused earlier that day as they exited a café, coffee in one hand while the other sat loosely intertwined with Ronan’s, “some people think German sounds unpleasant.”

Ronan had snorted and said, “Well then they haven’t heard you speak it, that’s for damn sure.”

That had resulted in a very cheeky smile from Adam, along with a generous shoulder bump.

She turned around and nodded, “Ja, natürlich!”

Ronan seemed to have pieced together easily enough what was going on, as he came to snake an arm around Adam’s waist, pulling them tight against each other.  Adam glanced up and saw him smiling fiercely, a glint to his eyes that usually warned of mischief, but now simply told of contentment.  It wasn’t hard for Adam to lean in and muster up that same energy.  He heard the camera click a couple times, and then Ronan was planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek and the camera was clicking some more, and he was happy.

It also turned out that Ronan’s signature monochromatic attire wasn’t out of place here, and in his black and grey look, he almost blended in with what seemed to be the typical streetstyle of the city.  Even though Adam had on what he considered an outfit that actually had some semblance of effort behind it—cuffed jeans and a tan sweater—he felt like he had missed the memo, whereas Ronan looked like he could slip into one of the corner shops like a local. 

Sometimes it was infuriating to Adam how little Ronan actually tried to look decent, yet always seemed to come out looking the best anyway.  Damn him and his perfectly sculpted features.  Just because Adam could kiss them any time he wanted now didn’t mean he was any less bitter about it.

“God, this shit is insane, Parrish, come on, you have to try a bite,” Ronan said, sauce making a mess of the perfectly sculpted face Adam had just been bemoaning.

Or, that’s what Adam assumed he had said.  Ronan had a habit of talking with his mouth full and Adam had gotten quite good at translating what he was trying to say.  He was pushing a fork full of currywurst at Adam, a dish Ronan had insisted upon trying the second they got off the plane.  Adam had chosen to try a döner kebab sandwich himself, and held it out to Ronan’s face in kind.  After trading samples of each other’s meal, Ronan stared longingly one last time at the giant hunk of spinning meat that Adam’s sandwich had been made with before they headed out the door.

 It was nearing the end of their day out, and although this wasn’t Adam’s first time in Berlin, it was his first time in Berlin not as the Magician.  Being able to truly see the city with new eyes today, he felt a sense of understanding here, like the city already knew him.  It was unlike Rome, which held in it the attraction of something more, of something starting.  Berlin held in it the attraction of something long settled, of something finishing.

“We should come back here sometime,” Adam said as they made their way back to the hotel, “for maybe an extended stay.”

Ronan hummed, then said, “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Back in their room, they sat next to each other in bed.  Ronan was stuck in a hole of baby animal videos—again—while Adam, eyes closed, was stuck in a hole of his own thoughts—again.

Ronan was absentmindedly playing with one of Adam’s hands, tracing the lines of his palm, picking at one of his scabs before Adam could tell him not to, looping a finger or two loosely around his wrist.  It helped to keep Adam grounded, and just the fact that he now had someone who he could let touch him in the most casual—and most intimate—of ways, someone whose touch he longed for when it wasn’t around, someone who he adored more than he thought possible, was better than any wish he ever could have made all those months ago at the Trevi Fountain.  He let himself hope, but only for things that seemed possible, and at that time, something like this wasn’t one of those things in Adam’s mind.

“We’ve certainly come full circle, huh?  Today really was just like that first day we spent together” Adam said wistfully.

“Hold on there, Parrish, today wasn’t exactly like that day, and for the better.”

“How do you mean?”

Adam’s hand was released, and lips were pressing down against his own.  He immediately pressed back, once, twice, opening his mouth to invite Ronan in.  They kissed lazily, Adam moving down to mouth at Ronan’s neck before he spoke again.

“Well, for one, I couldn’t kiss you like that, no matter how badly I wanted to,” he said, kissing Adam again to reiterate the point, “and two, you certainly wouldn’t have done a number on my neck like that.”

Adam bit down slightly where his mouth still rested by Ronan’s throat, and said, “How would you know, you didn’t ask.”

If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he heard Ronan smother a choking noise.  Adam brought his face back up so he could look at Ronan.

“I know something else that’s different.”

“Yeah, and what is that?”

“Ich liebe dich.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow, “The hell is that supposed to mean, ‘nice ass’?”

Adam exhaled, he was almost certain Ronan knew exactly what it meant.  But, he didn’t mind spelling it out for him.

“It means I love you, Ronan Lynch, even though you’re impossible.”

Ronan grinned cheerily, “Adam Parrish, I love you so much it’s fucking disgusting.”

“You have such a way with words.”

“If you don’t want to hear what I have to say then maybe you should kiss me some more so I can’t say them.”

Adam laughed, then did exactly that.

Later, when Adam took Ronan into his mouth, he took pleasure in the fact that Ronan could barely manage to get out a single word, much less a full sentence.

“Fuck, Adam,” he ground out, hand grappling in Adam’s hair.  They had lost their shirts sometime ago, and Adam could see the muscles of Ronan’s abdomen tighten with each bend of his head.  For being such an expensive hotel room, the carpet sure didn’t feel very good on his knees, Adam thought, as he kneeled before Ronan at the end of their bed.  His pants had been tossed to the side, leaving Adam in just his briefs, unlike Ronan who had had his shoved down to his feet in a haste. 

He pulled off so he could tongue at the tip, placing a hand on Ronan’s upper thigh and rubbing small circles there.  A sound escaped him that Adam wouldn’t call a whine, but only because if he did, Ronan would surely deny it, even if that’s definitely what it was.  Ronan reached his hand that wasn’t in Adam’s hair down to firmly grasp the hand on his thigh.  Adam intertwined their fingers and dragged his lips across the head.  He felt Ronan’s nails bite down in response.

“Is this good?” Adam asked.

Ronan cracked an eye open.

“Fucking hell, Parrish,” he said, breathing heavy, “do you really have to ask?”

Adam completely pulled away and looked up at Ronan; that was only a half-answer.

The hand in his hair brought his head back down, “God, yes, it’s good, of course it’s good, everything you do to me is good.  Even that little fucking smirk you’re doing now because you just got me to admit that is good.”

Adam nosed around the length before taking Ronan in again, making his thigh twitch beneath him.  He began to bob his head at just slow enough of a pace to put Ronan on edge, the slight pulling of his hair and the strained noises leaving Ronan’s mouth enough to make Adam moan around him.  The taste of Ronan was one that Adam didn’t think he could adequately convey: that of salt and intoxication, and something else that Adam decided was beyond what he could process, especially in this state.

A pleasured Ronan Lynch was one that Adam knew not many, possibly only him, had ever had the honor of seeing.  His jaw always began set, but eventually would hang loose, letting noises flow freely and without abandon.  Ronan was not a man of shame, not anymore. The intensity of his face mirrored the rest of his body, and getting him off was the delicate art of slowly uncoiling all the tension until it unfurled in one final sweep of the brush.  And, at times like this, Adam liked to consider himself quite the artist.

He gave a decidedly hard twist of his hand at the base, causing Ronan’s hips to jerk forward as he bit out a curse, plunging him even deeper into Adam’s mouth.  He hummed, and let Ronan work his hips twice more before removing his hand to press it to Ronan’s hip, holding him steady and still.  He flicked his eyes up to see Ronan flushing deeply, and to see a bead of sweat trail its way down his forehead.  His other hand was still wrapped tightly in Ronan’s, so tightly that it felt like they were fused together.

“Shit, Adam,” Ronan began, after a few more pulls of his mouth, “I’m close.”

So was he, Adam realized as he strained against himself.  He had gone untouched up until now, but the act of bringing Ronan to this moment was enough to do the same to him.  He pulled off and unlaced their hands, causing a confused look to rise on Ronan’s face as he stood up.

“Scoot back,” Adam said, pushing on Ronan’s chest lightly until he did as ordered.

Adam straddled Ronan’s lap, pulled his own briefs down just enough to let himself free, and placed his other hand behind Ronan’s neck to steady himself. Ronan hissed as he took both of them in his hand and began to move. 

“How are you that hard already?  I’ve barely even touched you,” he asked.

Adam let out a sigh, part exasperation at the question and part pleasure at the way he had just flicked his wrist.

“Ronan, do you really think the only way you can turn me on is by touching me?  All of this wasn’t only for your benefit, you know.”

Ronan was quiet for a moment, before another move of Adam’s hand forced a sound out of him.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, okay, that’s hot.”

Rather than poke fun at him for sounding like a teenage boy, Adam responded by tightening his grip, causing their hips to chase each other as the friction increased.  Their breathing was coming alarmingly fast, punctuated with sounds that their neighbors could certainly hear if they unfortunately happened to be in their room.

Ronan was saying Adam’s name, and it took him until Ronan grasped Adam’s face in his hands before he realized it was in an attempt to get his attention.

He opened his eyes to see Ronan staring into his.

“Finally, earth to Parrish. I just wanted to say, I love you.”

Adam would never, ever, tire of hearing him say that, and Ronan knew it, which is why he said it. 

“I love you, too,” he responded, because he knew Ronan never tired of hearing Adam say it either.

Ronan reached down to place his hand over Adam’s and as he let out a low groan, Ronan leaned forward to chase it away with a kiss.  It only took two more pumps for Ronan to tense, releasing with a long moan, lips going slack underneath Adam’s as he rode it out.  Soon after, Adam was also unravelling, digging his fingers hard into Ronan’s shoulder as his hips stuttered and slowed.

With a deep breath, Ronan withdrew his hand, as did Adam.  Ronan looked at the mess on his hand for a moment, then brought his finger to Adam’s chest, in what looked to be an attempt to draw a heart with it.

“Really?”

“Grown up finger-painting,” he said with a wickedly crooked grin.

What started as a chuckle grew into a laugh so full that he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, Lynch?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You’re also gross, and in need of a shower.”

“So I’ve also been told.”

Adam untangled himself and stood up, heading towards the bathroom.  He heard a dramatic sigh from the bedroom, then slow plodding footsteps followed behind him.

“I get to pick the water temperature, I’m not freezing my ass off like last time.  If your skin doesn’t feel like its being scalded off, then you’re not doing it right.”

“Fine.”

Adam was still too sated to argue.  It definitely wasn’t that he just liked to see the sharp set of Ronan’s face when he got his way.  Definitely not that.

…

The morning began, again, with a yell.  A shrill, mechanical, shriek coming from Ronan’s phone alarm at the crisp hour of four in the morning.  Adam had completely forgotten how early their flight back to Rome was, as did Ronan from the sheer amount of swearing he was doing as he fumbled for his phone.

Adam rolled out of bed and pulled on a random pair of pants he found on the floor that were very likely Ronan’s. 

“It’s too early to function,” he mumbled.

Ronan grunted in agreement as he threw every bathroom item they had brought into one bag and shoved it into his suitcase.

He shuffled over to the sink and splashed his face with cold water which helped a bit, but not enough for him to care about the fact that his hair was so tangled that the height of it rivaled Henry’s.

Slowly, but surely, they got their room packed up, and Ronan pulled their boarding passes from his wallet.

“You ready to go home?” he asked, handing Adam his.

Boarding a plane to take him home was something Adam did not have experience with.  Boarding a plane, sure, he did that all the time, but never with the intention of going somewhere to stay.  Never without the intention to receive another plane ticket in a month’s time, maybe less.  Never with the intention of returning to familiar faces—to Gansey’s fervor, Noah’s sincerity, Henry’s unbridled energy, and Blue’s compassion.

“More than ready,” he responded, looking down at the ticket to see that their flight number was 621.  He snorted, just another thing to add to his list of ‘not coincidences and surely not fate’ list.

Ronan hefted his backpack onto one shoulder, and held out his hand for Adam to take, which he did, of course he did.  He always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part took longer to write than i had initially hoped for, but finally here it is! i'm well aware that it's kind of just a mess of scenes cobbled together by some threads of inner monologue--probably due to the fact that this wasn't in the original outline--but i hope it was fun regardless, and thank you for reading, i hope you had as good of a time with these dorks in rome (and now berlin) as i did <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you were interested in hearing some real spy number stations, here are two of my favorites:
> 
> The Lincolnshire Poacher - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnXPqUU6fI0&t=8s  
> The Swedish Rhapsody - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnXPqUU6fI0&t=8s 
> 
> If you so desire, you can follow me on tumblr (ronansparrish.tumblr.com)!


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